Mirror Image
by paperwingsandbrokenlegs
Summary: Things aren't quite right between Rafe and Danny,and they're re-discovering the bounds of their strained friendship when the world is literally pulled from beneath their feet. How will they cope? Better than it sounds. Rated for language. NOW COMPLETE
1. Prologue

hi!

this story was inspired by the trailer for "I come with the rain", which the author recently watched.

DO REVIEW. this is a little different from stuff i have written before and i would very much like to know whether it's having the effect that i want it to.

disclaimer: i don't own the movies, characters or, for that matter, anything. i am doing this for fun and do not profit from it. no point suing me either, because all you're gonna get is textbooks.

XXXXX

It was a good way to close a long, hard day of work that yielded nothing more than the knowledge that what they were trying to do is nigh on impossible. A cold glass of beer, foamy and rich, to wash away the stain of failure that tainted all of them now.

The waitress placed the glasses in front of them with a clunk! and Rafe snapped from his thoughts. Hands quickly shot out and grabbed the glasses, and he watched as all the boys settled back into their seats, sipping gratefully at the golden brew and dissolve into friendly chatter. Well, all except for one; Danny was staring off into space again, and his drink sat on the table in a fast-forming pool of condensation. Gooz, even whilst chugging his own drink, eyes Danny's untouched one with the hungry gaze of a predatory hawk. If his friend continued his trip in la-la land, his drink would be appropriated soon enough.

On another day, in another time, he might have nudged Danny and alerted him to the impending theft of his drink. Hell, he might even have gone so far as to ask him what was on his mind; God knows that there were a lot of things to worry about, and if his friend wasn't a worrier, well, he was a white rabbit. Now, though, he was too tired to give a shit. The last thing he wanted to know was what his friend was thinking; if Evelyn was the cause for that wistful expression on his face. Rafe wiped a hand over his face and reached for his drink, belatedly realising that he had left it sitting too, and now the foam was all gone.

"You alright?"

He looked up to see Danny looking at him with an appropriately concerned expression; now he felt just guilty and just a little bit irritated. "Yeah, just tired." He flashed what he hoped was a convincing smile.

"What a day, huh?"

"Oh, come on, Danny. Yeah, today was crap, can we please talk about something else?" He kept his voice low, not wanting to draw attention to his irritable state.

His friend looked slightly taken aback, but recovered quickly. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a letter; the parchment colour of the envelope and the handwriting on it were painfully familiar to him and he suddenly felt a stab of anger. What the hell was he trying to do?

"I got this today...Evelyn asked about you, you know?" His voice sounded a little off, but he could have been speaking in tongues for all the difference it would have made to Rafe. "D'you wanna read it?"

That was it. He couldn't take this anymore; this sharing-caring session. Did he want to read it? Yeah, about as much as he wanted a trip to the dentist, or to eat snails. He got that his friend was trying very hard to make things better, but didn't Rafe tell him to let it go? Didn't he tell him that things couldn't go back to the way they once were? Why couldn't he just _listen_ for once? Gritting his teeth, Rafe grabbed his drink and finished the glass without pausing for breath. The boys fell silent, growing aware of the change in the once-amiable atmosphere.

He set the empty glass down on the table and wiped his lips. "Ahhh, nothing in the world a good beer can't cure, eh? Well, I'll be taking off now." Having excused himself, he freed himself from the table and exited the bar, praying that he would finally be given the solitude he needed to contemplate the absolute unfairness of life; not only had he lost the love of his life, he couldn't even hate the guy who had ripped her from his arms because he was hard-wired to always look out for said guy. Soap operas were less dramatic.

And, true to soap opera fashion, Rafe had just rounded the corner when he heard footsteps falling behind him. He didn't even have to turn around to see who was behind him, because that's what a lifetime of hearing your friend's footsteps right behind you did to a man. "What?" he asked, knowing that this stalker could hear him.

There was no reply. He waited two heartbeats for an answer and turned when he didn't hear anything. The look on Danny's face made it clear that his friend had no idea what to say...finally. He sighed. "Look, I'm not mad or anything, okay? I just wanna hit the sack early tonight."

"Yeah, okay." There was a mixture of unreadable emotions flashing across his friend's face, none of which he recognised. He didn't know how Danny managed to become unreadable in the short months that he was gone; it felt like the world had suddenly changed when he wasn't looking. "Mind if I come along?"

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Why? You gonna sleep somewhere other than the barracks otherwise?"

That got a smile out of him. "I wish. I don't think I've ever had to sleep in so much noise. Makes me-" he stopped mid-sentence, as if offering Rafe the chance to drop the line of conversation and pick up a new one.

"Makes you what?"

"Miss Hawaii. You could hear the ocean from the base."

Well, wasn't that nice. While he was in England getting shot to pieces, his friend was in paradise, being lulled to sleep by the sound of the waves. Still, that was his own doing, wasn't it? He had no one to be angry with but himself, and that thought just served to stoke his anger even more. "Well, no point wishing for what you can't have." And that was one of life's truths. Now, if only he could learn to take his own advice...

They trudged back to the base in an uncomfortable silence. It was unoccupied, and they threw themselves on the so-so comfortable bunks, hoping that sleep would give them respite from the physical and emotional exhaustion that lay over them like a heavy blanket. All around them, the sounds of their impending mission filtered in, a lullaby not for the faint of heart.


	2. Motel Room

hi!

second chapter up!

disclaimer: standard disclaimer applies. please see chapter 1.

XXXXX

The glare of sunlight filtering through poorly-tinted windows woke him from his slumber, and Rafe rubbed his eyes as he slowly pulled himself upright. Even in his sleep-addled state, he noticed that his surroundings were unusually quiet. His eyes snapped open, and he got the shock of his life. He wasn't in the barracks, not by a long shot; he was in what looked like a small motel room, lying on a bed much more comfortable than the one he went to sleep in. There was little in it, apart from the bed, another bed, nightstand and a table in the far corner.

"What the hell?" he wondered out loud, quickly shucking off the sheets and jumping out bed. How on earth did he end up here? More importantly, where was here?

"Danny?" He called out. "Guys? Anyone?"

There was no answer. Growing tetchier by the minute, Rafe yanked the door of the room open and peeked outside. It was a motel, and it looked pretty deserted. He was on the second floor. There was a single car in the parking lot. The base was nowhere in sight.

More than a little overwhelmed, and possibly just a little scared, he went back into the room to take stock of his situation. Settling into the bed once more, he checked his pockets. His wallet was still in his left pocket. There was a gum wrapper in his other pocket, but other than that, he had nothing. Rafe wondered for a moment whether this was a joke the boys were playing on him, but he wasn't the type to sleep through the manhandling that this would have taken to pull off. Could he still be dreaming?

Thinking about it, that idea appealed to him. He'd heard of people unable to wake from their dreams, and he knew very well that falling down in a dream was bound to wake you up. He took a deep breath and went lax, falling off the side of the bed.

It hurt. His head throbbed, and he was pretty sure that his nose pointed inwards now. Still, when he looked up, nothing had changed. Clearly, this was not a dream.

Feeling more than a little bit silly, Rafe picked himself off the floor and walked over to the door. Maybe he'd better try and figure out where he was first and worry about the how and why later. The door opened to reveal a hostile and cold outside, devoid of any signs on life. Sticking his hands into his pockets, he ambled down the stairs and caught sight of a door with a large white sign on it proclaiming "OFFICE".

A short, balding, stodgy man sat behind a plain wooden table with his buried in a newspaper. He took no notice of Rafe's entry, until the latter rapped his knuckles on the counter. With a weary sigh, he folded the paper and looked up. "Can I help you?" he asked in a tone which suggested that he most certainly didn't want to help anyone.

"Yeah, erm, when did I check in?"

Heaving another sigh, he pulled a logbook out from under the desk and flipped the pages. "Lieutenant MacCawley, right? Last night."

"Oh. Would you know if I went anywhere or saw anyone last night, maybe? What did I do here?"

The man sneered at him. "That's easy enough. You obviously got stone drunk, or you wouldn't be bothering me at this hour with these insufferable questions. Harvelle's Bar is just down the road, perhaps you'd want to take your questions there."

He tipped his hat to the man out of habit than any actual desire to thank him and walked out. So it appears that he did sign in, unless of course someone else signed in for him; an entirely possible situation, considering that the clerk was probably too lazy to ask for identification. Standing in the parking lot, he decided to take the man's advice and check out the bar. Maybe he'd get a better idea of where he was.

Harvelle's Bar was marginally more alive than the motel. There were a number of bikes in the parking lot and one truck. The building itself was a ramshackle looking thing, styled to look like an old Western saloon, but the neon lights spelling out its name spoilt this effect. It looked like one of those places where the locals all knew each other and any outsider would be treated with disdain.

As soon as he opened the door and stepped inside, every head swivelled in his direction. Rafe did what he always did in situations like this; he held himself proudly and strode to the counter. If anyone was looking for a sign of weakness, they would find none. His body language made things clear; I may not be picking a fight, but just give me a reason...

Then, he saw Danny. He was sitting at the counter, and unlike the other patrons, had his attention fixed on something in front of him; probably a drink. A surprising amount of relief flooded through him. Maybe this was some form of prank after all.

"Danny!" There was no response from the sitting figure. Wasn't that typical? His friend was probably daydreaming, again.

"Hey, Danny!" Now he was getting stares, but not from the person whose attention he was trying to attract. Huffing, he closed the distance between the door and the counter in 3 strides, and laid a hand on Danny's shoulder. He turned abruptly, as if shocked.

"Man, you're really deaf, you know that?" He half-joked before realising that something was terribly wrong. Danny seemed different, and his eyes were cold. It was almost like looking at a stranger.

"Do I know you?"

XXXXX

He awoke to the harsh sunlight shining in his face, vaguely wondering why Rafe had let oversleep. Danny ran a hand over his eyes as he slowly pulled himself upright, and realised with a jolt that something was very, very wrong. Fully alert now, he practically leapt out of bed, into an environment completely alien to him. Turning a full 360, he took in as much of his surroundings as his head would let him over the pounding of his heart.

It was probably the most shocking moment of his life. He wasn't in the barracks, not by a long shot; he was in what looked like a small motel room, lying on a bed much more comfortable than the one he went to sleep in. There was little in it, apart from the bed, another bed, nightstand and a table in the far corner.

"What the hell?" he wondered out loud, wondering how on earth he ended up here. And, more importantly, where here was.

"Rafe?" he called out. He had no idea why; it was more of an instinctive reaction than a logical one. "RAFE!"

There was no response. Before he could panic, Danny stopped himself and took a few deep breaths, feeling his heart slow to its usual rhythm. There was no use running around like a headless chicken; no, it would be better to figure out how he ended up here.

Could it be some sort of prank that the rest of the guys were pulling on him? It didn't seem likely that he would sleep through something that involved dragging him out of the barracks and into some strange motel room. Besides, it didn't seem like them...they were more likely to pull pranks of the 'shaving cream in your jacket' variety. This was too elaborate.

The only problem with ruling out that possibility was that he was now left with no explanation as to how he got here that wasn't absurd. Maybe he'd been abducted by aliens. Or perhaps he fell through some sort of black hole and ended up in a different dimension.

Feeling a little frustrated, he opened the door of the room and walked out. He was right about one thing. The room was on the second floor of the motel, and apart from the single car in the parking lot, there was no sign of human life here. He peered through the window of the room next to the one he'd woken up in, but the room was empty. A short walk down the stairs revealed a door at the end of the corridor with a large white sign on it proclaiming "OFFICE".

A short, balding, stodgy man sat behind a plain wooden table with his buried in a newspaper. He took no notice of Danny's entry, until the latter said "Excuse me?", at which point he folded the paper with a weary sigh. "Can I help you?" he asked in a tone which suggested that he most certainly didn't want to help anyone.

"Yeah, I was wondering whether you remembered me checking in?"

Another sigh. "You think I got nothing better to do than sit around and remember the face of every flyboy that passes through the door?"

Danny resisted the urge to roll his eyes and felt his pockets. Thankfully, his wallet was still in his left pocket. He pulled out a couple of ones and laid them on the counter. "Maybe if you think a little harder? Perhaps sometime yesterday."

The man stuffed the money into his breast pocket and said "Well, I recall you coming in late last night. Said you wanted a room, real private, so I gave you one on the second floor."

Okay. This was getting weirder by the moment. "Just one more thing; where are we?"

The man looked at him with curiosity now. "What the hell didja do up there, boy? Andover."

The name was unfamiliar. "Andover, Jersey?" The base was in Jersey, and he hoped that it wasn't too far away.

The man was practically bug-eyed. "Jersey? Hah...This is Andover, Tennessee. The closest town is Wichita, in that-" he waved his hand left "direction."

Wichita, Tennessee. He lost his breath for a moment. That was...home. That was also completely insane, which apparently was the theme of the day. Before half-assed theories started clashing in his head, he focused on the task at hand. "Uhh, is that today's paper?"

"Nope, I get my kicks reading old papers. Don't ya think, boy? No wonder we're losing the damn war."

The man's remark should have unsettled him, but it didn't. There were bigger things to be concerned about at the moment. He pulled out another dollar from his wallet. "Can I have it?" The way the man looked at him, you'd think that he just suggested torturing small animals or something of the sort. He pulled yet another one out. "Please?"

He walked back to his room clutching the most expensive newspaper in the history of mankind. The date on the paper was February 18th 1942, which was correct. The paper was one of those substandard, small-town publications full of local gossip and characterised by bad punctuation. Still, everything looked to be in its place, except for him.

A short but thorough examination of the room yielded nothing except the knowledge that, apart from his wallet, he didn't have anything with him. Danny heaved a weary sigh that the man downstairs would be proud of, and sat on the bed. What would he do now? Maybe he should call Rafe. The thought was followed by a sharp twinge of hurt; maybe Rafe wouldn't even have noticed his absence. No, that was just him being childish. Of course Rafe would know that he was missing, and he'd be worried. Probably angry too, and wasn't that great. As if Rafe's anger at him needed any more ammunition.

Maybe this was the universe telling him in some screwed-up way that he didn't belong on the base. That he was nothing but an annoyance and dead weight to his friends, and that he belonged back home. This mission was dangerous enough as it is, and Rafe certainly didn't need the added strain of watching out for him. Maybe he should just go home and forget everything; the mission, Rafe, Evelyn...


	3. Collide

hi!

this is the chapter where things get interesting!

anyway, i've noticed something; chapters up:3, reviews: 0. shocking, eh?

disclaimer: refer to chapter 1

XXXXX

He was at a loss for words. The oh-so-familiar stranger before him repeated himself "Hey, man, do I know you?"

"It's me, Rafe." Really, what else was he supposed to say? And what was wrong with his friend?

Danny shook his head. "I think you got the wrong person, man." With that, he turned away, downed his shot and indicated for the bartender, whose salt and pepper hair was pulled up in a neat ponytail, to give him another.

Suddenly furious, Rafe reached forward and grabbed the front of his shirt. "What the fuck is wrong with you? How sick are you?"

In an instant, he found himself facedown against the bar, with his hands pinned behind his back. Angry, confused and hurt, he struggled anyway, wondering why his friend was playing such a cruel joke on him.

Then he spoke. "I am going to let go now. Are you going to fight me?"

Rafe remained stubbornly silent.

The hands holding him still eased off and he turned around. Brushing himself off, he ignored the obvious stares of the rest of the bar's patrons and looked Danny straight in the eye. His friend showed no sign of remorse, or even any indication that he was doing something wrong. It was infuriating, and just a little unsettling.

"Okay, whatever point it is you're making, I get it. Can you just cut out the bullshit now and at least tell me where we are?"

"I don't think you've got the point. I'm not who you think I am." He looked like his patience was being worn thin, which was ironic because he was the one causing all the problems in the first place. "And this is Andover."

The name didn't ring any bells, but that didn't surprise him considering that geography was never one of his strong points. "Andover, Jersey?" The base was in Jersey, and he hoped that it was close enough that he would be able to trek back without relying on his very inconsiderate, evil friend for directions.

Said friend's eyebrows were raised now, but whether in humour or surprise he couldn't tell. "No, Andover, Tennessee. It's just a few miles down from Wichita."

And then he knew where he was. Home. How on earth that came about he had no idea, because it was impossible for someone to travel that kind of distance in such a short amount of time. It was a measure of how screwed up things were that that wasn't even his biggest problem right now.

"You gonna stand there and keep me guessing how we got here?"

There was a distinct eye-roll this time. "I got here a couple of days ago by train. How you got here I don't know and, quite frankly, don't care."

What kind of lie was that? They were at the base yesterday night, for crying out loud. Rafe really didn't see what his friend was trying to get at. "We were at the base yesterday!" He had a little trouble keeping his voice down, and the bartender shot him a dirty look as she handed Danny another shot. Since when did Danny knock back shots like that anyway?

"Base? What are you going on about?"

This was unbelievable. "The fucking base, dipshit! Where we are training for the raid, or has that slipped your mind too?"

He shook his head. "Look, I'm not even in the force. And obviously your friend is, so I'm not him. Are we done here?"

That was really the stupidest and most pointless lie of all. Rafe was contemplating shoving the shot glass down his throat when he remembered that he had hard proof; something he could show and hopefully snap Danny out of this insanity. He pulled out his wallet and tossed it on the bar top, next to his glass.

"Then what's that?"

His friend's forehead scrunched up before he picked the wallet up and examined it closely. "It" was a picture of the wing, taken at the end of their first year in the force, and Rafe and Danny were front and centre in the picture. He had no idea why he kept it, but now he was glad that he did. Danny looked up at him, eyes wide.

"Cat got your tongue?"

His wallet was tossed back at him, and the bartender found a wad of cash tossed at her. Then, Danny caught the elbow of Rafe's jacket and led him out of Harvelle's. Again, he was surprised at the force that the former was able to exert; enough to give him second thoughts about resisting.

One they were outside in the deserted parking lot, Danny turned around to face him. "Who are you? What are you playing at?"

"Ohh, that's great! Just drop the act, alright?"

Lips pursed in a thin line, he pulled open the right side of his jacket to reveal a badge in his hip. A police badge. Rafe looked at it, and then up at him.

"I was never in the force. I'm a detective."

"What?" To say that this was unexpected would be the understatement of the century. This was crazy. A small ache made itself known behind his eyes, indicating the onset of a headache. Not that it was surprising, considering what his mind had to wrap itself around. "You're a detective? Who are you?"

The man pulled out his badge and handed it to Rafe. "So, who's this friend that you're looking for?"

Rafe shook his head, unwilling to believe that he was staring at a bona fide doppelganger. What was that someone said about each person having 7 lookalikes in the world? "Ermm, his name's Danny Walker, formerly from Wichita. I'm Rafe MacCawley, by the way. Now we're over at a base in Jersey. Pilots in the force."

It was a pity that Rafe was busy scrutinising the badge in his hands while describing his friend, because he missed the myriad of expressions that danced across the other man's face; surprise to confusion and finally, a dangerous narrowing of the eyes. It wasn't very long after this that Rafe found himself pressed against the wall of the bar, with something hard and cold pressed into his side.

"Who are you?"

"I told you!"

The gun dug deeper into his side. "Who sent you?" There was a change in his voice; no longer did this person sound like his friend. He sounded fierce and more than a little psychotic. "Was itHasford? Are you working forHasford?" It struck Rafe as strange that he pronounced the name attached to whatever word came before it, like it was too powerful to say alone. Also, he wondered how he ever mistook this goon for Danny; the latter would never manhandle him like this, and couldn't muster this much force even if he tried.

"No! I don't-"

"Don't lie to me!"

"I swear, I don't know any Hasford!" His vehement denials did nothing to convince the other man, because the gun was still digging into his side. Still, he wasn't shouting anymore, and Rafe took the opportunity to explain; if there was something that he prided himself with, it was the ability to talk himself out of trouble.

"Look, man, I'm sorry for disturbing you like that…I honestly thought you were my friend. If you let me go, I'll leave and not bother you anymore." Speech finished, he waited with bated breath.

The pressure pinning him to the wall eased, and he slowly turned around. The detective still had the gun clutched in his hands, but was now watching him with a piercing expression, like a scientist trying to identify a strain of bacteria before him. He stood there, unsure of whether he was being allowed to walk away; when in doubt and faced with a mad gunman, always avoid sudden movements.

"You lie with a straight face. Not many people can."

"I'm not lying."

He took a step closer. Not good. "Thing is, your logic's gotta be impeccable too. You say you're not working forHasford, so how do you know who I am?"

Okay. This man was certifiably a lunatic. "Huh? Weren't you trying to tell me that I don't know you? And now I agree and you're saying I do? What are you-"

"I am Daniel Walker."

XXXXX

The price of a bus ticket to Wichita had gone up since Danny was last here, but it didn't really matter. The town had changed somewhat too. The streets were all the same, but the atmosphere was different; there were more flags flying above the shops, but fewer people walking in and out of them. The people looked more serious, and the one child he saw had its hand held tight by its mother. He recognised that look, having seen it in Hawaii after that day. Illogical as it seemed, he just didn't expect it to reach all the way here.

He walked into local diner, Patty Anne's, and ordered coffee, even though he could have gotten a better cup for less at the bus stop (which would have been advisable, given his precarious financial state). It was just a sudden longing to see the titular owner of the place, who used to give Rafe and him free cookies when they were younger.

It was empty, and he sat at the counter, sipping his coffee. The waitress, who stuck her pen behind her ear, fiddled uninterestedly with a few things and watched him out of the corner of her eye when she thought he wasn't looking. Finally, she asked "You in the force?"

He nodded, although it should have been pretty obvious from his uniform.

"You from around here?"

"Yeah," he answered, and then asked "Where's Patty Anne?"

"Who?"

That was unexpected, to say the least. "She owns this place…or she used to. You don't know her?"

The girl shrugged and walked over to the kitchen and stuck her head in. "Hey, Kevin, someone's asking about the previous owner. You wanna talk to him?"

A short man with wispy blonde hair walked out and Danny recognised him instantly; Patty Anne's nephew, who was a year or two older than him. He used to work for her during the summer months, but that seemed like ages and ages ago now. He stopped short of the counter and said "How'd you know Patty Anne?"

Danny doubted that Kevin would remember him, so he didn't bother introducing himself. "I used to come here a lot when I was younger and she was always around. What happened to her?"

"Nothing actually happened. About year ago, she said she wanted to go somewhere exotic, on an adventure or summat. So she packs her bags and buys a ticket for a cruise to India, and the last we heard from her, she was helping someone or rather set up a school there. I took over the diner some weeks ago, pity to see the place go to waste. Oh, how's the coffee?"

It was mediocre at best, but he smiled and gave the well-meaning man a thumbs-up. "Oh, do you know where I can find Mr. MacCawley?" Rafe's old man was a crop-duster and his work routinely led him to the far corners of the town's outlying farms, and he really didn't want to trek all the way to the family home only to be shot on the front porch by an extremely jittery Mrs MacCawley.

"Yeah, sure, he's over at the garage on 21st street. You can't miss it."

And that was how he came to be standing outside a large place; garage didn't seem to be a fitting term for the place, junkyard might have suited it better. There were piles of trucks, bikes and all manner of motored-vehicles stacked neatly in the property, a small space was reserved for vehicles brought in to be repaired, no doubt with parts salvaged from the other relics. A few men sporting blue overalls and a generally greasy appearance, obviously mechanics, puttered around busily. One spoke to another man who was gesturing towards a rusty-looking pickup. Maybe Mr. MacCawley had come here to pick up some spare parts for the crop-duster.

He walked into the yard, and was approached almost immediately by one of the mechanics. "Can I help you?" The man looked a little wary, which was understandable since a man without a vehicle really had no business in a garage.

"I'm here to see Mr. MacCawley."

The man's expression immediately eased. "You're one of his friends, eh? He's over there, under that old Chevy in the corner lot."

Strange. What would Mr. MacCawley be doing under a truck? Nevertheless, he walked over and stood by the Chevy, seeing only the man's legs protruding from beneath the vehicle. "Mr. MacCawley?" he called tentatively, not wanting to disturb the older man if he was in the middle of something.

The man slid out and was on his feet quicker than you could say "sprightly". He smiled at Danny, a grin that lit his face with good humour and revealed his straight, white teeth. A smudge of grease stained his forehead, but it only added to his all-round American appearance. He extended a hand to be shaken, but Danny didn't notice any of this; he barely even heard the words that left the man's lips.

"Rafe MacCawley at your service."

XXXXX

well, how was it? just hit that little purple button below, it's not so hard.


	4. Strange Discoveries

hi guys!

disclaimer: standard disclaimer applies. refer to first chapter.

XXXXX

"Rafe? Wh…What are you doing here?"

The man before him narrowed his eyes. "I work here. Do I know you?"

"It's me, Danny." Even as the words fell from his lips, he knew that they meant nothing to this person wearing his friend's skin. He looked like Rafe, shared his name and probably a lot more, but he was not the hero who returned from the dead and took his revenge against the Japs on that fateful day. It didn't make the least bit of sense, but he knew it to be true somehow. Maybe he was in a parallel dimension of sorts, where Rafe didn't know him.

"I'm sorry, but I really can't seem to recall who you are."

He shrugged. "That's okay." His mind worked quickly to come up with a plausible excuse for knowing the man. "Remember Allie and Georgie? They're my cousins, so we're technically like cousins twice removed, or something." Alice and Georgina were Rafe's cousins, who sometimes joined them during holidays; they enjoyed having playmates of the same age.

His – Danny still couldn't bring himself to think of him as Rafe – quizzical expression gave way to one of jollity and he looped an arm around Danny's shoulders before the latter saw it coming. "You're family! Why didn't ya say so?"

Before he could reply, the man continued. "What brings you here?" That was the million-dollar question, wasn't it?

"Errmm…I was passing through town and I thought of dropping by to say hi."

"You have to stay for dinner, man. Danny, was it?"

He wanted to say no, knew that the best course of action was to head for the base and realised that he didn't quite belong in this reality, but it was so difficult to push this away. This person was not his Rafe, but the affection he felt for the stranger was still strong. It was like he had been conditioned to tag around anything wearing that face and attitude like a homeless puppy.

"If it's not too much trouble."

"Nah…just wait for me for 5 minutes and I'll give you a ride to my place. You haven't been there before, have ya?"

He was tempted to point out that he lived there for the better part of his life, but it was just a foolish machination of his mind. "Nope. Thanks, man."

The car ride to the MacCawley residence was an informative one, to say the least. He discovered that Rafe, whilst able to fly Jake MacCawley's crop-duster, never enlisted in the force, and that Mr and Mrs MacCawley had moved to Florida a few years ago. He owned the garage and was the handiest mechanic in this side of the state. Oh, and he was married.

As the town gave way to golden fields of wheat and corn, swaying gently in the spring breeze, he suddenly felt terribly homesick. It occurred to him that it had been almost 5 years since he left the town and never came back; having Rafe with him meant that he was rarely alone, but seeing his home made him realise just how much his life here meant to him.

The house was just the same, a wooden structure sitting in the middle of a lush field of corn; beautiful and familiar. He followed Rafe up the veranda and the latter had reached out to open the door when it swung open and someone came running out. A tiny someone, with dirty blonde hair and the cutest grin on his little face. He ran past the two adults and into the vast expanse of green.

Then, from inside, a voice calling out "John MacCawley, get back here RIGHT NOW!"

Rafe laughed. "He's gone," he said to whoever was calling out for the boy and turned to Danny. "He's quite a handful; I almost feel sorry for all the things I did to my parents."

Again, the truth was quite obvious, but it hit him like bus. That boy was Rafe's son. Rafe had a child.

"Y'alright?" Apparently this Rafe could read him about as his friend could. He smiled and nodded.

They walked in and Rafe walked straight into the kitchen, leaving Danny standing in the hall feeling like a visitor in the house he practically grew up in. He heard voices, one male and one female (presumably his wife) and then two people walked out of the kitchen. And his jaw hit the floor. Standing by Rafe's side was none other than Evelyn.

While he stood there in shock, she smiled her radiant smile and said "Hi there. I'm Evelyn. It's always a pleasure to meet one of the family."

"H…Hi…" he managed to stammer out, unable to tear his eyes away from her. This was unreal, unbelievable. What was next; Red and Betty living next door?

"I know, she's a real looker. Lucky me," Rafe said, half-waggling his eyebrows. She smacked his shoulder.

"It's…um…you look familiar," he finally said.

"Well, I don't even know who you are."

"I'm Danny Walker." He extended his hand to her, but not before catching the fleeting glance exchanged between the married couple. She shook it, a brief but firm handshake that revealed the no-nonsense persona he first encountered during that medical exam such a long time ago.

"Dinner should be ready in half an hour or so. I'll leave you and Rafe to catch up while I go and track down my definitely-grounded son." And with that, she was walking out of the door, much like a hurricane blew through town, shook up its residents and left just as suddenly as it came. He watched her as she left, wondering if he had lost his mind and was in reality lying in some mental institution somewhere spouting gibberish.

XXXXX

He was now convinced that the person in front of him was a first-class psychopath. The expression on his face certainly indicated that he was _this_ close to gunning down everyone within sight.

He raised his hands slowly, a placating gesture that only served to heighten the madman's twitchiness. "Look, you're obviously a very busy man. Why don't I leave you alone now, huh?"

"You haven't answered my question. How do you know who I am?"

"Maybe there are 2 Danny Walkers from Wichita, and by a stunning stroke of fate, you share the same features. Hell, maybe Cole Walker slept around and lacked creativity in the naming department." The other man's expression tightened at the mention of his sire, but Rafe kept on talking. "All I know is that I don't know you and I somehow get the feeling that we'd both like to keep it that way."

"Wouldn't you like to get to know the man who's trying to kill you better?"

He had a vehement protest against the baseless accusation just waiting to come out, but the guy spoke quickly. "We can solve this quite easily. Show me someone who can vouch for your innocence, and prove that this other Danny Walker exists, and this whole thing can just blow over."

Finally, something that made sense. Rafe breathed a sigh of relief, happy that some sense of professionalism lied beneath this nutter's murderous tendencies. Proving his identity would be easy.

A couple of hours and half a dozen phone calls later, Rafe realised how very wrong he had been. His attempts to contact the base and Doolittle had been met with a wall of secrecy; according to various secretaries, Doolittle was not in America to begin with. Whilst he marvelled at the level of security afforded to the mission, it did nothing to help his current situation; contacting his Danny was out of the question. He could not recall Evelyn's Hawaiian phone number. His parents did not have a phone installed in the house. Who the fuck else was there to contact?

He hung up as the latest government minion began to tell him that he did not have clearance to contact Doolittle or anyone on the mission he was _not_ heading. Behind him, the insane cop grinned maliciously; it was disconcerting to see such a hideous expression on his friend's face. "Boy, he really left you out in the cold, huh?"

"Who?"

His eyes narrowed. "I suggest you stop lying to me and just tell me what he sent you to do."

It felt like he was going in circles. "Dude, I was on a base in Jersey yesterday. We practiced some moves, had a beer and went to sleep. When I wake up, I'm in a nameless motel room in the middle of nowhere and I run into my friend's doppelganger. If you have any idea what is going on, please tell me because I have no idea!" He raised his voice in frustration; if the cop wanted to shoot him, he could go ahead and do just that.

"So you're Alice in Wonderland? Show me your mirror then," The cop seemed amused now, but he made about as much sense as a drug addict; he wondered if the police were really so short-handed that they would resort to hiring bi-polar megalomaniacs _what a lot of big words; Danny would be so proud_ like him.

"What?"

"The room, buddy. If you've really been dropped here by forces beyond your control, there should be some evidence of it, right?"

They walked to the motel in an uncomfortable silence; the kind you get stuck in when you're being forced to go for a stroll with a gun-toting maniac. He just hoped that the cop would get bored after a while and let him take a bus or train back to Jersey.

"Assuming you aren't lying, your friend's father is also called Cole Walker?" The stranger's voice jolted him from his thoughts.

"Yeah."

"And, let me guess, he passed on when your friend was about 17?"

That was something new, and it caught Rafe's attention. "No. He died when Danny was 12; before his 12th birthday, actually."

"Oh." There was a short pause, and when he spoke again, his tone had changed; it was more subdued and much more like his own Danny. "Did…did he have a mom?"

Rafe shook his head. "She died, and that's why they moved here. I don't think he remembers her. Do you?"

"Nah. You sound like you're regurgitating my life's story."

"That's…creepy. Creepy doesn't even begin to cover it."

"You haven't seen creepy." Something in the way that he said it made Rafe not want to dispute his claim. "Anyway, if his father died when he was so young, where did he stay after that?"

"With me. We grew up together."

The motel came into view, and he stopped in the parking lot. The car that was there earlier was now gone. "This is it. My room is that corner one on the second floor."

The man indicated that he should move on. They headed towards the stairs when Rafe spotted the manager leaving his office, newspaper clutched in his arm. He pointed him out to the detective. "That guy was in the office, and he says that I checked in late last night, which I'm sure I didn't."

The next thing he knew, the guy had disappeared into the stairwell, out of sight to anyone not using the stairs. Rafe waved at the motel manager as he walked past, and got nothing in the way of acknowledgment. He walked to the end of the corridor and disappeared into a room; the door was marked with a sign that said "KITCHEN".

He peered into the stairwell, and found the detective standing there with his gun drawn; the very same gun that had been pressed into his side not too long ago. It was a thing of beauty, with a polished silver barrel and engraved with an intricate pattern. Clearly, a lot of affection had been lavished on it.

However, the gun was of little importance to him at the moment. The detective was looking from the gaps in the stairwell at the closed kitchen door, waiting for the poor old sod (yes, he pitied the motel manager now; unhelpful as he was, he didn't deserve to be a recipient of this sack's murderous intentions) to come out again. His only fear was that someone would assume that he was with this person's sidekick or something.

"What are you doing?"

The detective didn't so much as look in his direction. "Go away," he hissed.

It was what he was waiting for, so why was it so hard to run, run away as fast as his legs could carry him? "I don't think that the guy's any trouble, really. Why don't-"

He was cut off. "Get lost. I mean it."

"Danny, this is crazy."

This time the detective turned around to face him; his cold eyes bore into Rafe's. "It's Daniel. Leave. Don't make me tell you again."

He didn't have to. His words, his coldness gave Rafe the shove that he needed to get moving. If the guy wanted to run around killing people, he was welcome to. Wasting no further energy on words, he strode upstairs into his room, never so much as looking over his shoulder.

The room. It was where this whole dilemma had begun, and he was back. It was frustrating; like everything he had done had just taken him on one long circular trip, to leave him at the beginning with no more than that which he had to begin with. Snarling, he kicked the bed, and was rewarded with a new throb in his foot.

Rafe sat on the bed, feeling uncharacteristically miserable. He wished that Danny was here; he would know what to do, the genius that he was. And even if he didn't, they could work something out together. Sighing, he flopped onto his back and laced his fingers behind his head. He didn't even know what the time was, or if anyone back at the base would know how to find him. That thought led him to wonder whether there even were people wondering about him anymore, since this strange trigger-happy person haunting the stairs beneath him was apparently Danny. And that was impossible, wasn't it?

It was only when he awoke to darkness that Rafe realised he had fallen asleep. His back was stiff from the awkward position he was lying in, but he hardly noticed that as he leapt off the bed again. No, he more concerned with the loud sound that had extracted him from his slumber.

Peering out of the window on the opposite end of the room, he could make out 3 figures in the alley behind the motel. Two were standing with their backs to the wall and one was standing at the mouth of the alley, pointing a gun at the other two. He knew instantly who it was. He wanted to remind himself that he didn't give a rat's ass what this Danny – no, Daniel – did, but the thoughts were driven from his mind at the sight of one of the other men, who he now recognised as the manager, producing a gun.

He was flying out of the room and down the stairs before he even knew what he was doing. As he rounded the corner and approached the mouth of the alley, Rafe heard voices.

"Drop it!" That was Daniel, of course. He'd recognise that voice anywhere.

His only response was the click of a gun's safety sliding back, and the muted sound of a bullet entering the chamber. Rafe raced around the block and, without thinking, launched himself at the offending stranger, knocking the man into the ground and his gun out of his reach. The man reacted by planting his booted foot in his face, stunning him. Rafe avoided the next blow, but the man managed to hit him in the head again, and this time he saw stars.

He looked up to see Daniel clock the man with the handle of his gun, and the man sunk to the ground; his companion, however, managed to throw himself over Daniel, probably hoping to incapacitate him. Without skipping a beat, Daniel slammed his elbow into his attacker's face and in one swift move, reversed their positions, pinning the man against the wall. His gun was positioned under the man's chin, pressing uncomfortably against the soft skin of his throat.

Rafe picked himself off the ground and walked over to Daniel's side, but he might as well have not existed for all the attention he received. The detective's eyes were fixed on his captive's, wordlessly warning the man against making any sudden moves.

"Where's the pick-up?"

The other man remained resolutely silent.

"It's in the warehouse, isn't it? What's being delivered?"

"You think I'd tell you? Go ahead, lock me up. I say one word, and he'll kill me."

"You don't want to mess with me. Who's delivering?"

Silence again. Rafe wondered how one person could strike such fear into another's heart, so much so that he refused to talk even with a gun pressed against him throat. Daniel lowered the gun, and before either man could guess what he was about to do, shot him in the left knee. A scream pierced the night, and Rafe didn't close his eyes fast enough to not see the mangled mess the bullet made of his kneecap.

"You'll find that I can be as persuasive as him. Now where's that drop-off happening? When?" Daniel's voice was softer, silkier now. It sent shivers down his spine.

He was answered by ragged pants. "I ain't stupid, boy. You don't turn on him and live."

When Daniel lowered his gun again, Rafe was prepared for it and closed his eyes in time. Still, nothing could block out the near-animal shriek that followed. The man's knees were jelly, and only his tormentor's arm pinning him to the wall held him up now.

"You're probably not going to live anyway. The only difference between me and him is that I'll stop at you, but he'll make sure that your mother, sister, whatever, know the taste of their intestines before they die." His still silky voice belied the horrid connotations of his words, but Rafe detected a hint of madness in his eyes; a madness that made it clear that he really was not all that different from this Hasford.

The other man must have seen it too, because he said "Machine guns, semi-automatic. Skimmed from army supplies, one from each delivery."

"Where, when, how."

"Tonight…we're supposed to meet the dealer at midnight. At the warehouse. Just an inspection, no money or goods exchanged."

This satisfied Daniel, because he removed his arm and let the man fall to the ground. He lay there in a heap and looked up at the detective. "What are you waiting for? Just shoot me already."

A shrug. The gun was holstered. "Changed my mind. Nothing personal. I can't afford to waste bullets on you, now that I've got bigger fish to fry."

Rafe could not believe the sheer callousness of this guy, and wondered how he ever mistook him for his friend. Danny would never contemplate, let alone carry out, such cruelty. Disgusted and sick to his stomach, he turned to leave; the further away he was from this freak, the better. When he got back, he was going to report this occurrence to someone who could take action about it.

But when had things ever been so easy? The detective's voice broke his train of thoughts.

"Where do you think you're going?"

XXXXX

just keep those reviews rolling! author's muse needs feeding!


	5. The Strange Familiar

hi!

new chappie!

disclaimer: standard disclaimer applies. refer to prologue.

XXXXX

Rafe answered curtly. "Away."

"I don't think so. I need a henchman, so to speak, and you're here now."

"Too bad. I don't know much about police protocol, but I think you're not allowed to just go around shooting people."

Daniel's expression was cold, calculative. "There's a delivery of guns being made to one of the most dangerous criminals in the country, right now. Guns that will kill a lot of innocent people. I'm trying to stop it, but he never sends a single agent, so I need someone to stand next to me so that they'll let me in."

"Find someone else." Rafe was not budging. He'd seen enough to guess how the detective was going to deal with the gun runners and he wanted no part of the cold-blooded murder.

"You think I'm sick? That I'm acting out of bounds? Buddy, you kill Japs and Germans. We're not so different, so you can get off your high horse and help me take down these criminals, or I'll have to pull some poor sucker off the street."

That stopped him. He didn't want someone else to fall prey to this maniac, but a deeper part of him realised that he had a good point. Was killing criminals so different from killing national enemies? Was there really a distinction between a mob member and a Japanese soldier? At least the latter did what he did under the belief that he was defending his country. "What do you want me to do?"

"Not much. Just walk behind me and shut up. I'll handle the rest."

Less than half an hour later, he was entering a darkened warehouse a few blocks down from the motel. He had just stepped over the threshold when Daniel turned around. "Okay, I'll do all the talking. You stay behind me and keep your head down, and whatever I do, don't interrupt. Is that clear?"

"Yeah. I shut my face. You kill whoever you like."

A weird sort of smile graced his face, as if he was intrigued by the answer. Rafe really didn't care what he thought anymore; he just wanted to get out of this alive.

The warehouse looked abandoned. The only light came from buildings outside, a result of which the place was plagued by long and ominous shadows. The lower floor was devoid of human life; cluttered with empty boxes and covered in dust an inch thick. A rotting staircase led into the darkness above and it was what the detective made a beeline for.

The stairs creaked beneath his feet, serving as a warning to those upstairs that someone was coming. He couldn't really see what he walking into, since Daniel was right in front of him. The stairs levelled out, and he found himself standing in a better lit area. The room was filled with boxes, neatly arranged and stacked to the ceiling. Two men stood before them, armed with revolvers that they held with the casual ease of people long used to carrying firearms.

"Yer early." The shorter man, whose face was covered in stubble, spoke with a Manhattan accent.

"Why should that bother you?" Daniel kept his face averted, and spoke in that silky tone that Rafe so despised.

"Our boss don't like surprises, and lemme tell you, we don't either. 'sides, you lot are never early."

"Shame about your boss. I quite like surprises. My own men received one today, and they are unfortunately incapacitated, which is why I have decided to come and inspect the goods myself."

The man paled, and his companion stood straighter. "Uhh…good evening, sir. We had no idea you'd be dropping by, or we'd have tidied up, sir." They thought that he was Hasford, and Rafe found their gullibility humorous; the way they bought the detective's lousy cover story made him wonder how they managed to successfully run a smuggling business for so long.

His apologies were dismissed with a casual wave of hand. "Show me the goods."

"Yes, sir. Most certainly." The shorter man, who Rafe named in his mind as Stubbles, quickly walked over to a pile of crates and peeled the lid from the topmost one. Even in the dim light, Rafe could make out the outline of a newly-manufactured Lee Enfield resting in a bed of shredded paper. Stubbles picked it up reverently and handed it out to Daniel, bowing slightly as he did so.

Daniel took the gun, but made no other move. "What's your price?"

For the first time, the taller one spoke. "We told you already…sir."

"Tell me again."

The two crooks exchanged looks, and Rafe could clearly make out their dilemma. Should they risk disobeying this dangerous criminal to verify his identity, or should they risk losing their freedom to some undercover detective?

"I requested for a special item. Only I would know what it is." Daniel was privy to their thoughts too, apparently.

Stubbles shifted uneasily on one foot. "We're terribly sorry, sir. Can't be too careful these days."

"Perhaps you could hand it over and stop wasting my time."

The taller man produced a small sack from the confines of his coat, but held it close. "What is it?"

There was a long pause. Rafe was sure that everyone could hear his heart, it was beating so hard. They were screwed. Daniel's bravado and smooth talk could only extend so far. All eyes were trained on the dark-haired man, and he finally raised his head to look the crooks in the eye. He cocked his head weirdly, in a series of disjointed movements that made him look even more insane.

"Silver bullets, marked with an eye on the base. And an apple."

The tension in the room deflated. Both crooks exhaled in relief, as did Rafe. How Daniel knew what he did he knew not, but it most certainly saved their lives.

"Now, hand it over."

The taller man dropped the bag in his outstretched hand, and they watched as he loaded the bullets into the Lee Enfield. "I believe I asked you gentlemen to name your price."

Stubbles spoke up. "Each piece is worth $15, sir. There are 4 in each crate and there are 90 crates. That'll be $5400."

"Hmmm…" He shouldered the gun now. Using one hand, he tossed the apple to the taller man. "Put that on your head and stand in the corner, right there."

There was silence in the room. No one moved. Rafe found himself holding his breath, and he was sure that the two other men were doing the same. Daniel looked up. "What are you waiting for?"

Stubbles shot a glance at the taller man, who grew a few shades paler even as he watched. Swallowing nervously, he stepped back until his back was against the wall and, with a visibly shaking hand, placed the apple on his head. Rafe watched in disbelief, angrily wondering why the detective was doing this. Part of him was also angry with the taller man, who should have had a greater sense of self-preservation. The needlessness of this was what struck him the most; Daniel had proof of the men's guilt, and all he had to do was arrest them.

"Some people say art imitates life," he said suddenly, and all eyes swivelled to him. "When I splash paint on a canvas, I don't know what it will look like in the end…some days, the streak goes wide and sometimes the paint falls on one spot so thick it takes days to dry. But the point is that it's the not-knowing that makes the end result art."

He aimed the gun. "So, if I hit the apple, I'll get a splash of fruit on the wall. If I hit your head, it'll be brains and blood instead. But, whatever happens, it'll be a work worthy of display." He smiled at Rafe. "You're lucky. People pay to watch me work." He turned to the crooks. "And I'm giving you a free show."

It was testament to the taller man's strength of character that he did not fling the apple across the room and run for dear life. Rafe felt sickened by the sight before him, and the detective's clear amusement.

The gun went off with cracking sound. The apple burst. Pieces of fruit splattered on the wall and ran down the man's face, but the relief everyone felt was overpowering. His knees trembled, and the taller man leant against the wall, eyes turned upwards, murmuring a prayer of thanks.

No one expected the second shot. One moment, the man was praying, and the next, his head had erupted in an explosion of blood and flesh. Stubbles cried out in horror and Rafe gagged. The headless body slumped to the floor, leaving the splatter on the wall clear for all to see. Daniel grinned. "But personally, I prefer brains and blood to fruit. More volume."

He tossed the gun at Stubbles, who caught it gracelessly. "I'll send my men to collect the items shortly. You will receive payment from them."

The only crook standing nodded. Daniel abruptly turned and marched down the stairs, and Rafe followed him, thoroughly sickened by the whole affair. The cool air hit his face when he exited the warehouse, making him realise just how stuffy the air was inside. He had barely taken a breath when Daniel began striding in the opposite direction; he walked like a man possessed and Rafe was forced to half-jog to keep up with him.

After proceeding like this for two blocks, it finally became clear where the detective was heading; Harvelle's. Not knowing whether he was still needed or not, Rafe had no choice but to follow him in. He followed Daniel as he headed straight for the counter and demanded to use the phone. The bartender pulled the bar's telephone from beneath the bar and placed it on the counter.

Rafe had no idea who he was calling, but he caught the short conversation. Daniel simply gave the address of the warehouse and told whoever it was on the line to bring the whole squad. The bartender, the same woman from this morning, had his drink ready and waiting; he hung up and swallowed the shot in one fluid motion. The sting of alcohol must have been welcome, because he sighed softly and set the glass down on the counter.

Only then did he turn to face Rafe. Never in his life had the latter been treated this way, and he was more furious than he had ever been in his entire life. Granted, part of this ager came from this guy's resemblance to Danny and his inability to view him as a completely distinct person, but he was more than justified after everything that had happened.

"You can go now." He waved his glass at the bartender and she poured him another shot. His voice had returned to its normal timbre.

For once, Rafe had nothing to say, no witty retort, no reprimand, nothing. He turned and left, fervently wishing that he would never have to lay eyes on the detective ever again.

Without thinking, he walked back to the motel room. It was his only connection to normal and his return served to remind him of the life that was waiting for him back in Jersey. Throwing himself down on the bed, Rafe resolved to take the bus out of this god-forsaken hellhole first thing in the morning. He closed his eyes, and welcomed the images of Evelyn that flooded his consciousness.

XXXXX

Sitting at the dinner table, Danny felt like a stranger in his own body; watching himself do and say things that he never thought he would. Still, he was oddly glad about the whole affair.

Rafe and Evelyn were obviously a very happy couple, and their son was just adorable. His unruly hair had been slicked down with water, but a few rogue strands had already begun to stick up. They looked every bit the proverbial American family.

"How'd the two of you meet?" he asked, trying to create conversation and glean information at the same time.

Evelyn giggled and took a sip of her drink, and Rafe smiled. "Well, that's quite a story. Now, Evelyn's a Californian, and you know I've hardly stepped out of Tenny. So, how'd we meet?"

Danny shrugged; Rafe was a good storyteller, as always, and he enjoyed building up the tale bit by bit.

"I was returning from a trip to Andover, because one of my regulars had engine problems and wanted only me handling his car. I'm on my way back, and it's already late in the afternoon when I see a bunch of girls, all dolled-up and standing right in the middle of the road, which is really weird, so I stop."

At this point Evelyn laughed again. "The girls and I were going on a road-trip, and Martha had just won some $200 in a diner lottery. The drinks started flowing and before you know it, we were drunk enough to consider driving a good idea."

"You shoulda' seen it, man! A pack of tipsy, man-hungry babes…"

"We had a bit of an accident, naturally."

"They drove the car into a ditch! You couldn't even see it from the road. It's amazing that they all got out unhurt. The poor thing was totalled."

"Anyway, he was nice enough to give us a ride to the nearest motel and check us in for the night."

"I got a thank-you note from her about a week later."

"He wrote back."

"6 months later we were married."

"Ewwwwww." That was young John. "Girls are icky."

This time they all laughed. Downing the last of his drink, Danny felt both content and frustrated at the same time. The happiness of the little family was infectious, and to be able to share a normal, friendly conversation with Rafe and Evelyn, something he had longed for, was everything he thought it would be. Still, it was plain to see that Rafe and Evelyn were destined for each other; it was painful to see her look at Rafe with eyes full of tenderness when he had been on the receiving end of such looks not too long ago. Now he knew what Rafe felt like, and it wasn't even this guy's fault in the way that it had been his.

"Where are you staying?" Rafe's question brought him out of his private thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Tonight? There aren't any trains outta here until 8 or so tomorrow. Did you get a room somewhere nearby?"

"Yeah, sure-"

Evelyn was as perceptive as ever. "Oh, come on Rafe." She leaned forward and placed her hand on his arm. "You're our guest, and I won't have you staying anywhere but here tonight."

It was funny, being invited to stay as a guest in his own house. "If it's not too much trouble."

"Of course not," said Rafe. "We have a guest room right upstairs. Used to be my room. You'll like it, I think. It's got a huge window that looks out on the field, and the view goes on for miles."

Danny knew that very well, having awoken to the very same view for a good bit of his life. "Thanks."

Lying in bed that night, he found himself unable to sleep; there was just too much going on for his mind to truly rest. Besides the obvious questions about the impossibility of the situation that he was in, Danny found himself wondering about something else entirely; would he want to change it? He had never seen Rafe and Evelyn so blissful and unburdened, and God knows that the both of them deserved it. As much as it riled him to see Evelyn with Rafe, he had to admit that she was better off here than she ever was as a Navy Nurse. Neither had been touched by the atrocities of that day and he couldn't, wouldn't take that from them. More worryingly, he wished that tomorrow would never come; he didn't want to leave so soon. What awaited him in "reality" anyway? Separation from Evelyn? Secrets? The non-friendship between him and Rafe, held together only by either's incapability to do things any differently?

Rain pattered lightly against the windows, cooling down the warm Tennessee weather. The sound of the rain against the glass was familiar, much like nature's lullaby, and Danny soon fell asleep, curled under the blanket of childhood memories.

XXXXX

well, what do ya'll think? anyone pick out the reference to "i come with the rain"?

REVIEW!!! the author's muse is holding a gun to her head and demanding for feed! it's not so hard...

cheers!


	6. Of Libraries and Theories

hi!

disclaimer: standard disclaimer applies. please refer to prologue.

XXXXX

He stirred lightly, coming to the sleep-addled realisation that his friend had neglected to wake him up; the sunlight streaming into the room indicated that he had slept way past the morning roll-call. Rising slightly, he propped himself up on his elbows and tried to blink the sleep from his eyes, wondering all the while what he had done to invoke Rafe's ire this time-

-and remembered where he was. Danny's heart leapt at this realisation, higher than he ever expected it would. This was a whole new beginning, where Rafe wasn't angry with him; no one was. Quickly pulling on his shirt and slacks, he practically bounced down the stairs, noticing the smell of fresh coffee that hung in the crisp morning air. Heck, he could even hear the trilling call of some blue-jays outside, a sound absent in the highly mechanised environs of the various airfields that had been his residence for the past few years.

He entered the kitchen in search of the brew, but caught the sound of fast words being exchanged in the hallway. At first, Danny meant to stay where he was; any arguments between the married couple were, after all, none of his business. But, as he rummaged for a mug and poured the steaming liquid from its pot, he overheard some sentences which contradicted his initial assumption.

"You know we can't afford to." That was Evelyn's voice, calm as ever but with a hint of desperation in it, much like it was when they had found her in the hospital on that day.

"But we can't just…" There was a pause, and Rafe continued "We're just going to let him sic a lawyer on us?"

"I don't like it either, but…" she muttered something inaudible, but Danny had heard enough. It sounded like someone had brought a lawsuit against them.

"Guys?"

They both turned to face him. "Ah, good morning," Evelyn greeted. "I see you found the coffee. Would you like me to make some toast? Or eggs? I'm afraid that's all we've got."

"No, that's alright." How could he bring this up without sounding intrusive and nosy? "Erm…I was getting coffee earlier and I overheard something about a lawyer?"

There was no need to say anymore. Rafe was clearly unhappy and he made that known. "There's this guy who once brought his truck to me. The damn thing was close to the end of its life and I told him that; suspensions gone, alignment shot to hell, engine valves all clogged up…it was like he never serviced the thing since the day he bought it. He tells me to try anyway, so I fix up what I can. I never see him after that. Then," he waved picked a letter off the couch and held it up. "I get this letter saying that I am at fault for the injury of his son because the truck crashed. He wants me to pay for the hospital bills and repairs, or he'll sue."

"It's unfair, but we can't afford a lawyer and we don't stand a chance against a lawyer in court."

It was one of those golden moments where the sun and stars are aligned just right, and the opportunity you've been waiting for presents itself to you on a silver platter. He had a reason to stay; a good reason.

"I could lend you guys a hand."

Evelyn smiled softly. "That's really nice, but unless you're a lawyer, I don't think there's much you can do."

"Actually, I did take a law class back in college. It's not a law degree, but... I'm not saying that I can make this go away, but it couldn't hurt to try." Danny wasn't lying. One of the electives that had made up his college education was legal studies; the wordplay and logical analysis suited him just fine.

There was a gleam of hope in Rafe's eyes. "But don't you have to be at the base or something?"

"Nahh…I've got a whole week off. I just didn't think there'd be anything to do." This was a lie. In all probability, Doolittle was seething and he'd soon be hunted down and charged for desertion, but he couldn't bring himself to care at the moment.

Rafe broke into a smile. "I knew I liked you for some reason! Heh…you sure you don't want breakfast?"

A couple of hours later, Danny was in the local library, dressed in a pair of Rafe's slacks (which would have been short if he had worn them at the waist like he was meant to, but his friend's larger middle meant that the pants sat on his hips rather than waist, and that made up for the length) and shirt, having sheepishly asked Evelyn for them after deciding that he really couldn't spend one more day unwashed in his uniform. The civvie attire gave him anonymity and he was able to find a quiet spot next to the law journals that would otherwise had drawn a lot of attention.

Danny was in his element. Research was something that had always come easily for him; somehow, he knew where to look and which publications would yield the information he needed. Rafe always said that he spent too much reading and not enough living, but he had seen so many things in the very books that he never would in life; tropical jungles, monarchical coup d'états spanning centuries, fantasy lands and beasts... Law reports, on the other hand, weren't very interesting at all, but the thrill of the hunt was all that he needed. After they had graduated from the military college, academia had taken a backseat in his life, and he was surprised to discover just how much he missed the intellectual pursuit of knowledge, the high of discovering and confirming facts and most of all, the feeling of purpose that he had now. Apparently there was a lot in his life that he didn't know he missed.

XXXXX

His decision to take train instead of the bus proved to be a good one. It appeared that there were very few people trying to leave Andover (which was not surprising considering that the population itself seemed to be less than that of the base), so he had a booth all to himself. It gave him the peace and quiet that he needed to get over last night's events; try as he might, he couldn't get over the feeling that he should have done something to prevent the needless slaughter of the gun runner.

He wouldn't lie to himself; this whole business with the detective disturbed him far more than his mysterious teleportation. His physical and historical resemblance to Danny was as impossible as anything ever got, but his repulsive demeanour made him the antithesis of his friend. Why then couldn't he get the guy out of his mind? Why the hell then did he keep wondering whether he would have survived the showdown in the alley without Rafe's help, and if he would be getting into such situations in the future?

Around noon, after a day of dozy soul-searching, Rafe ventured out of his carriage in search of refreshments and to stretch his legs. He found an attendant with a coffee cart along the way, and bought from her a large cup of coffee. It was not too bad, and he welcomed the bitter taste.

He walked into the next carriage and nearly dropped the cup. Sitting in one of the booths, face hidden behind a copy of the New York Times, was a figure he could recognise half-blind; the long legs, the firm but light grip so as not to crease the paper…it was Danny. Or, as it was likely to be in this case, Daniel. Was the detective following him?

Before the latter could look up from the paper and spot him, he quickly ducked back into his own carriage. Could he never escape this guy? That was it. He was getting out at the next stop and if the detective followed, well, he would go to the nearest police station. If that didn't work, he might just throttle him and be over with it.

The next stop was just outside of LA. He got out and stood on the platform until all passengers and disembarked and new ones got on; until the train finally roared away, spewing steam and smoke. There was no sign of the detective. Rafe let out a sigh of relief; he was probably headed for New York, where the scum of the earth tended to gather. He had no idea why Danny was so fond of the place; when they were stationed at Long Island, his friend would spend his free time traipsing all around the city. Apparently this version of him felt the same.

Greatly relieved and not at all sorry to waste a ticket, he found a diner and had a simple sandwich for dinner. It was all he could afford if he wanted to get another ticket tomorrow, but that didn't dampen his spirits. Not even the dingy state of the motel he checked into could do that. No, there was nothing that could bring him down now, he thought, settling into bed for the night. Nothing.

Rafe was jerked from his fitful slumber by a ticking sound. His hand groped around in the dark for the blasted alarm clock that the room's previous tenant must have set. What time was it anyway? It was still dark outside, but then it could have been anytime between eleven and four. When he didn't find any clock, he slowly rose and paid attention to the sound, hoping to discover its source. That was when he noticed that the sound wasn't at all rhythmic like a clock; its pauses were not evenly spaced and the volume rose and fell irregularly. Heck, it didn't even sound like it was coming from within the room.

Altogether annoyed, he slipped out from beneath the sheets and padded over to the door, wondering what on earth could be causing such a noise. A stray cat perhaps?

He needn't have wondered, since one peek out the window more than revealed the source of the sounds. Someone was on his knees, picking the door of the room next to his. The only problem was that the said someone was obviously drunk, and could thus barely hold the lock-pick still in the keyhole, let alone manoeuvre it decently. Anyway, there was no point referring to him as someone, because Rafe knew exactly who he was.

Was he cursed to have this guy show up everywhere he went? Was that what was happening? Even as he stood in the dark, wondering how he had missed him getting off the train, the detective straightened up, evidently having grown tired of the futility of his lock-picking attempts. Rafe did not for a moment believe that he was going to walk away; the way his luck was running, the guy was probably going to come and knock on his door.

The detective did neither. Instead, he took a step back and kicked the door, just like those cops he had seen in the movies. The cheap plywood door swung open with hardly any resistance and looked the worse for wear after its encounter with Daniel's foot. The drunken man stumbled inside and slammed the door shut. There was a sound of flesh hitting something soft, which Rafe assumed was the sound of him falling into bed, and then silence.

He was tempted to run, really. There was nothing preventing him from leaving this very instant; no suitcase that needed to be packed, no agenda, nothing. Nothing, except for this small voice in his telling him that there was no point running; in all probability, the detective would turn up wherever he ran. Some part of him recognised that Daniel was integral to the reason why this craziness was happening. Maybe he had to help him somehow; catch this Hasford guy maybe, or be less of a hateful shmuck. As he sunk back into bed, Rafe wondered exactly how he was going to do that.

The sunrise brought with it new hope. He wasn't running from his fate anymore; he was going to do something about it. Showered, dressed and fed, he walked into the hallway of the motel, only to discover that the room next to his was empty; its occupant long gone. Apparently this was going to be more difficult than he thought.

Working on the assumption that the detective couldn't have gotten very far because of the massive hangover he would be suffering, Rafe combed the surrounding area, paying extra attention to the alleys and seedy-looking parts of the neighbourhood. There was no sight of him. After spending a couple of futile hours this way, he took a different tack to the problem. If he was going to help Daniel catch Hasford, it would help to know who this guy actually was. That meant research, in a library.

He groaned at the thought, and immediately remembered Danny. Where Rafe hated reading because of his dyslexia, Danny devoured books; he excelled at research, and would probably relish the task at hand. He missed his friend. Danny probably didn't; he'd be worried, true, but he had Evelyn to alleviate his loneliness, didn't he?

Rafe struck gold at the library. Whilst rifling through old newspapers, he came upon an article dated sometime last year, and it was a piece on Douglas Hasford, artist extraordinaire. Bit by painful bit, he read the article, determined to get at least some basic information about Daniel's nemesis.

The article was written in conjunction with the opening of Hasford's latest exhibition, entitled "A Study in Humanity", featuring sculptures of people turned inside out to varying degrees; exactly the kind of crap he never had any patience for. Then came the interesting part. A part of Hasford's appeal as an artist came from the rumours that his works were based on real-life subjects. Some went so far as to say that real human parts were used in the sculptures; of course, none of the rumours had ever been confirmed. He was also the head of a thriving business empire, importing and exporting alcohol and various other fine foods. Rafe supposed that he was a smuggler of sorts, which was a very lucrative business in times like these where trade routes were plagued by enemy U-Boats and such.

The afternoon sun shone glaringly bright when he left the library. LA's proximity to the sea also meant that the air was heavy with moisture, creating a hot, humid atmosphere that really didn't suit a person who had spent the better part of a year in England.

Luck was once again on Rafe's side. He had barely walked two blocks from the library when he spotted none other than Daniel, standing right outside a local police beat base. He was dressed in a long trench coat and black slacks, which made him look like the typical movie detective. A young woman, smartly dressed, stood by his side, and they were both perusing some documents that she held in her hand. Rafe waited until they were done talking to approach Daniel, wanting privacy and using the time to formulate a semi-sane argument as to why the detective should accept his help. When she closed the folder and walked back into the base, he approached the detective.

Daniel quirked his eyebrows. "You again? What do you want this time?"

"This is going to sound crazy, but you need to hear me out. Just 5 minutes, and if you're not convinced by then, I'll leave you alone."

"Tick tock."

Rafe crossed his fingers behind his back and started. "I'm not where I should be, and I don't know how I got here. What I do know is that I keep bumping into you…at Harvelle's, at the motel, in the train. Everytime I decide that I'm done and I never want to see you again, I do anyway. It's like this higher power is somehow pushing me in your direction."

Even as he said that, he was aware of how much it sounded like a lame pick-up line. To his credit, Daniel didn't so much as twitch up to that point; he'd probably dealt with a lot of crazies in his lifetime.

"Anyway, my theory is that I was meant to find you. And obviously do something that involves you if I ever want to get back. The only thing I can think of is that maybe I'm meant to help you get this Hasford guy, since I was the one who pointed out the motel manager to you." Here, Rafe stopped and waited. His speech was done, and the ball was in Daniel's court now.

"I've got another theory. You're working for Hasford. He sent you to mess with my mind and stop me from getting him. The moment I let you into my confidence, I'll get my throat cut in my sleep."

XXXXX

i know, it's not the most interesting of chapters...

also, my exams are in about a month, so this means that i've got to hunker down and start studying. i will try to update as often as i can, but do not expect a new chapter every 4 days or so.

cheers!


	7. Calm Before the

hi!

XXXXX

"Nope. Train doesn't leave for Jersey 'till tomorrow, and tickets are only available after midnight." The woman at the counter didn't even bother to look up at him as she rattled off her answer, completely engrossed in one of those housekeeping magazines.

"There has to be a way to get to Jersey by tonight. It's so close."

She looked up and whispered conspiratorially. "Yes, there is."

He leaned forward.

"Get a car."

The cheek of that gum-chewing cow. Her snide snickering could be heard as he walked out of the station. The glare of the sun had diminished as the day wore on, and the evening air was much cooler than it had been before. LA's proximity to the ocean meant that the air here was much more humid than the Tennessee-born pilot was used to.

Walking along the road facing beachfront property, Rafe was remotely astonished to see the shameless flaunting of money that was going on. Each house, if they could even be called that, was unique in design and boasted wide yard space all around; most had several cars, all polished, parked in the driveway. No sign of human life could be seen in any of the houses, giving them an image of sterility that so contrasted with the youth and vibrancy suggested by the sight of burnished bodies at the beach right in front.

He didn't care much for the beach, although it had been years since he spent time on one. A lifetime of living in a land-locked state would do that to you, he guessed, and his stint in England, where it was too bloody cold to even think of getting one's toes wet, didn't help. Danny, on the other hand, would not be out of place amongst the born-swimmers of Orange County. He took to water like the proverbial duck, and he never let go of an opportunity to just play in the water. Rafe smiled as he remembered something his friend once said.

_The striped dolphin breached not 2 feet from the look-out point, splashing its avid audience with salty sea water. Several other dolphins, all members of the same pod, were visible slightly further off, and every now and again one would leap clear of the water and fall back with an almighty splash. _

_This was Puget Sound, home to John and Amanda MacCawley; Rafe's uncle and aunt. They had been invited over for the summer holidays, and in their short stay here, he had seen a vast variety of things he never expected to. This little inlet teemed with life; so far, he had seen at least 8 different types of seagulls (all types were dirty scavengers, ever ready to snatch an unprotected sandwich from unwary hands), seals, sea lions and even one pod of transient killer whales. It was all very breathtaking and humbling for the sixteen year-old, but his friend had fallen in love with the place ever since one of the dolphins had nosed his hand (incidentally, his sandwiches were all voluntarily given up). _

_The same dolphin leapt out in front of them again, this time doing a back-flip that showed its undeniable agility to the watching humans. Rafe could have sworn that there was a knowing glint in its eye as they gaped at it, open-mouthed and filled with awe. _

_"He thinks he's smarter than us…sneaky bastard," he commented to Danny._

_"Maybe he is."_

_"Dude…"_

_"Think about it. You think we're smarter because we do math, create fiction and can build really complex structures. They probably think they're smarter because all they do is muck around in the water all day."_

_"I don't get your point."_

_"Which do you like better; math or mucking around?"_

_"I think you've inhaled too much sea-spray."_

He was so lost in bygone times that he almost missed the person sitting on one of the benches that littered the sidewalk. Almost. There was no way he could overlook that form, not after a lifetime of keeping an eye out for it.

"Hello."

The detective stopped staring into space and looked up at him, eyebrows raised. "You want to be arrested? Is that it?"

"Nope." He sat down on the bench slowly; Daniel eyed him incredulously. "I went to buy a ticket to Jersey, but there aren't any. I'm taking a walk back to the motel and here you sit, right in my path."

"Lemme guess, because the universe intended for it to happen?"

"Yeah."

"I'll have you institutionalised."

"No, you won't." Daniel's eyes hardened, perceiving a challenge and possibly a threat. "Because you believe me. You don't want to, but you don't think I'm lying."

"How do-"

"How do I know?" He half-laughed. "You're not moving, not at all. This means you're paying attention to me and you wouldn't do that unless you find something worth paying attention to. And the only reason you'd find me interesting is if you think I'm telling the truth."

The detective was staring at him, slack-jawed. He smiled lightly. "And how do I know all this? That's exactly what Danny's like, and I can read him pretty well. You're like a different model of the same car."

This time Daniel shook his head, dropping his eyes. "I'd be crazy to buy this."

"But you do."

A sigh. "So, what? You wanna help me getHasford?"

"I guess."

The detective shook his head again. "I can't believe I'm doing this." He gestured at one of the houses in front of them, an asymmetrical structure made largely of glass, so cleverly built that only shadows could be seen beyond the glass. "He's staying there."

Score! He was in the game. "He lives here?"

"No. He lives in New York. This place is just a temporary rental."

"Okay. What-"

"Don't question me, just listen. What do you know about him?"

"He's a smuggler…and there was something in an article about him butchering people for art, but that was just a rumour."

A wry smile. "Rumour? It's the gospel truth. You wanna know something real funny?" Daniel turned to look at him, and Rafe nearly cringed at the madness and hurt in his deep brown eyes. "The reporter who wrote that article turned up dead not a week later, and his exhibition featured a new sculpture with life-like eyes. If anyone saw the connection, nobody said anything."

The idea was sickening, to say the least. Daniel continued talking, but averted his eyes. "She spoke to me before writing that article…did her homework, and found out that I was asking around about him. I told her about the human parts."

It was sheer force of will that stopped Rafe from instinctively telling Daniel that it wasn't his fault; that this was not his Danny whom he could protect from unfairly inflicted self-blame. "That's so you know what you're getting into…you could end up dead at the bottom of some pond, just like her. Last chance to leave."

"I'll pass. If he's so…efficient, how come you're still walking?"

Daniel shrugged. "Not for the lack of trying. I've just been lucky, I guess." There was a dark undertone to his light words which seemed to suggest that luck had nothing to do with it, and Rafe found himself genuinely distressed by the thought that Daniel had come close to being killed; that he had no one to watch his back against such a dangerous foe. Then he remembered what the detective had done to the gun-runners, and he didn't seem like such a poor victim after all.

"What are you doing here then, watching the house?"

"He's going to do it again, probably here. I'm just trying to see who's going in and out…see who's likely to be next."

That was as good a reason as any. Rafe realised that it was going to be a long wait, and hunkered down to watch the imposing glass house, waiting to catch a glimpse of its equally imposing inhabitant.

The sun set and the stars came out to play. It may be late winter in some other parts of the country, but LA certainly wasn't feeling it. The streetlights flickered on just a few moments later; their electric glow lit up the night and drowned out the faint shine of the stars above. Rafe was sure that that was some metaphor about life in there somewhere, but he had no idea what it was.

Slowly, as they watched, the beach emptied of tanners, surfers and swimmers. The beach wasn't barren for long; couples enjoying a romantic stroll arrived soon enough, holding hands and making kissy-faces at one another. He wondered whether Danny and Evelyn had ever done that rather bitterly, and then wondered whether Daniel had done the same. It didn't seem likely, considering how prickly he was to all and sundry.

Speaking of Daniel, the man was checking his watch, maybe he'd come to the same realisation that Rafe did hours ago; that this whole thing was a complete waste of time. In the hours that they had sat there, not so much as a bird had landed on the lawn. If there was a person within all that glass, he was being very quiet, and he certainly was not the type who had many visitors.

He stood up, stretching as he did so. Rafe was quick to get onto his feet as well, antsy after the hours of unproductivity. Not half a minute later, they were approached by a woman in a rather fashionable black-and-white polka-dotted dress and clutch. She eyed him like a hawk and gripped her purse tightly; as if he was a potential snatch-thief.

"Where's Chuck?" Daniel knew her, and might even have been waiting for her.

"On the way. He got stuck filling out a complaint form." She was one of them. It should have been clear to him from the way she held herself; confident, but aware of her environment. Then he realised that he had seen her before, in front of the police station with Daniel earlier today. It was surprising though, to see a female police officer. Had everyone actually joined the army?

"Hmm…it's been quiet so far, though. Oh, and this is Rafe. Don't ask."

The woman was apparently used to receiving such orders, because she just offered her hand to him and said "Charmed. I'm Louisa."

"Nice to meet you." He shook her hand to find that she had a firm grip.

"Now that we're all friends…" The sarcasm was hard to miss "I'm getting out of here. You," he turned to Rafe "might want to follow if you want to learn more about how this is going to play out."

He started to walk away, but the woman called out. "Boss, the chief wants to see you tomorrow. And someone sent a white rose to your desk today." It sounded strangely like an appeal.

Daniel smiled. "I'll be good. You try not to get killed."

Rafe followed him, but turned around to catch a final glimpse of Louisa. She was watching them leave, something akin to worry and tenderness in her eyes. He was tempted to ask the detective where they were going next, but it sounded so childishly petulant in his head that he refrained.

Turns out he didn't have to wait for long; he only had to re-enter the shoplot district when it became absolutely clear where the detective was headed. A bar. It also became absolutely clear what Louisa was talking about. Daniel headed straight for the counter and gestured for the bartender. A young stripling, who couldn't have been old enough to shave, quickly ran over and pulled out a few shot glasses from under the counter.

"Just a tequila for now."

The kid deftly replaced the glasses, prepared the drink and moved a respectable distance; not close enough to hear any conversations, but close enough that he could keep an eye on the drink. It was VIP treatment, normally reserved for loyal customers.

"You've been here before?"

"Yesterday." Of course. How could he have forgotten the drunken adventures of the lock-picking detective?

"Anything for you?" The kid seemed to have realised that he had another customer.

He didn't know how long he'd be here, but it wouldn't be very long. Judging from his display last night, Daniel could hold his drink only marginally better than Danny. The only difference between the two was that Danny enjoyed binge-drinking about as much as a root-canal, whereas this guy was one of those morons who drank himself under the table for the heck of it. "Just a beer, kid."

An hour later, Rafe marvelled at how wrong he was. Daniel had worked his way through the tequila, a glass of rum and 4 shots of Jack, and showed no sign of having ingested any alcohol. That might not even have mattered had he been like Gooz, who became merrier as the drinks flowed; he had once ended up dancing on the table-top. But no, Daniel was one of those gloomy drunks; he brooded in silence, quickly brushing off any attempts at conversation.

Never one to take no for an answer, he tried again. "You were going to tell me more about this Hasford guy, remember?"

Daniel made an impatient sound and waved his glass at the bartender, who promptly refilled it.

"Look, the faster you tell me what's going on, the faster I can get outta here and leave you to your drinking."

That caught his attention. With a sigh, he asked "What do you want to know?"

"How long have you been after this guy? Why haven't you got him yet? What's the significance of the white rose? And are the police hiring female officers?" There were plenty of things he wanted to know.

His last question elicited a smile from the detective; one of those natural, there-one-second-gone-the-next smiles that he was so used to seeing on Danny. "No, we're not. Louisa is my secretary, but she's a hell lot more competent than the fuckheads I have to work with. Pity. If it were up to me, she'd be head of the department."

"What about the rose?" He was especially intrigued about that; it seemed to him like something out of a crime drama.

"It's exactly what you think it is. A death note of sorts. You get a red rose, it's a warning. A white rose means you're dead."

"Shouldn't you be worried?"

"Not the first time I've got one." He downed the shot and the bartender had another glass on the counter quicker than you could blink. "It's just his way of saying that he hasn't forgotten about me."

That sent chills down his spine, and Rafe changed the conversation to something less morbid; he guessed that being surrounded by such doom-and-gloom all the time made the detective the highly depressing persona that he was today. "Tell me a bit about you."

Daniel looked at him; eyes slightly red. The drinks were beginning to show. "What do you wanna know?"

"How'd you become a detective? It is something you've always wanted to do?"

The guy smiled again, this time a toothy grin that was somewhat less happy than the one before. "I did law after school. At Stanford. Joined a law firm in Manhattan. The senior associate I was under was handling a case about the Italian mob. He made me do the grunt work; find witnesses, look over the evidence. It involved a lot of working with the police and I found that a lot more interesting than haggling over technicalities in court. I quit and joined the police, and got promoted after a while."

"How old are you?" There was no way that Daniel could have accomplished all of that in Danny's 23 years; he had no idea why he assumed the two were of the same age.

"Twenty-three." He looked like he knew where the question was going. "Finished law school at 21, joined the police before I was 22 and got promoted to detective in 4 months." His words were casual, but Rafe caught their implications; Daniel was a friggin' genius. Somewhere in that alcohol-addicted, anti-social person was burning intelligence and fierce resourcefulness.

"Oh…why haven't you got Hasford yet?"

"Because I don't have proof," Daniel snapped. "I know what he does, who he kills personally and who he's sent his minions after. His kills are all…different. Art-like. Brutal. I know who's gone missing after he's met them, but everything's circumstantial. Nothing I've got on him will hold up in court. So I've been trying to get him on smuggling too, but he's too smart to have anything to with it. All the companies that have been charged were all registered under other people, and none of them will say anything against him."

It sounded disheartening. Rafe suddenly felt weary, right to his bones; a whole day of walking around and being cramped into an uncomfortable bench had taken its toll on him. The idea of sinking into his lumpy motel bed seemed incredibly welcoming. A shower wouldn't do him any harm either.

"Anything else I should know?"

"If anyone knocks on your door, don't answer." Daniel guessed his intention with apparent ease, and swallowed yet another shot. His hand shook slightly as he set the glass back down on the counter. Rafe wanted to say something about his wild drinking, but guessed that a marked man like him had little to fear from consumption or alcohol poisoning.

XXXXX

It was close to mid-afternoon when he left the library; his breath misted lightly before him, an indication that winter still held the state in its dying grip. A light breeze lifted the edges of his longish hair as he walked back to the house, feeling much like a child returning from school. It surprised Danny, the speed at which he had settled into this life, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

He let himself in before it occurred to him that he should have knocked first, that this was not the same house which he traipsed in and out of as if it were his own all those years ago. There were some sounds coming from the kitchen, so there he went. Evelyn was standing over the kitchen table, tossing a salad.

"Hi."

She looked up, a little surprised. "Oh, hi! I didn't see you there."

"Oh." He really didn't know what to say to her beyond that.

"Rafe's still at work." She had left the salad on the table and was now cracking some eggs into a large bowl; in short, she looked busy.

"Yeah, I know. Um…is it okay…can I hang out here? If you're not too busy…maybe?"

She looked at him again, but with an oddly amused expression. "Knock yourself out. I'd love some company."

He leaned against the wall and set his notes on the edge of the table. "What are you doing?"

"Why, isn't it obvious?" She whisked the eggs and walked over to the stove, where it looked like something was stewing in a pot. "I'm casting a spell on the shmuck that sicced the lawyer on us." She dumped the eggs in and said "Double, double toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble," but only managed to get as far as fire before starting to giggle.

Danny laughed too. "You have to tell me where you get your eye of newt and toe of frog; my local supplier only carries scale of dragon."

She raised her eyebrows. "You're full of surprises, captain."

"So are you. Not many people can identify ranks just by looking at a uniform."

She smiled. "I used to be in the force. I was a Navy Nurse before I got married, so ranks are something that don't pass by unnoticed. You don't seem to have that captain air, if you don't mind me saying."

"Nah. I was a lieutenant a couple of months ago…guess I've still got that rookie look, huh?"

"Not rookie…young. Too young to be fighting a war." She rolled her eyes. "Look at me, getting all emotional."

Danny didn't know what to say; he longed to just reach out and hold her, to feel her against him and admit that he was afraid to die, afraid that he would never see her again, afraid of so many things that Rafe would never be scared of. "War makes people emotional, I guess."

"I'm sorry. I'm sure that this is the last thing you'd want to talk about."

"Don't worry about it. And I think your spell is boiling over." It was true; the liquid in the pot was bubbling and threatened to spill. She turned the flame off and the bubbles quickly deflated.

"Well, that's if for dinner. Rafe and John aren't due back for a while yet. Normally, this would be my downtime."

He could take a hint. "I've gotta go look over my notes now anyway."

Her face fell. "Oh. I was going to ask if you'd like a drink."

"Or I could drink." She grinned, and rummaged in the recesses the cupboard for a while, only to emerge with a half-empty bottle of Glenfiddich. He pulled two glasses off the rack and held them out for her to fill, which she did rather generously. "This is my secret stash. Now that you know, I'll have to kill you."

"Cheers, then." He clinked his glass lightly against hers and took a sip, savouring the taste of the expensive stuff.

She downed her share, shaking her head at the punch of alcohol. "Ah, that's the stuff. Don't know what I'll do without this to tide me over."

The sun had set by the time Rafe came home with John, and in that time, he had learnt a lot about Evelyn and her life here. Like the fact that she was happier than she ever imagined she could be, that she missed her job as a Navy Nurse but was grateful that she didn't have to deal with the victims of the war (she didn't think that she was brave enough to handle the death and carnage) and that she hated silly romance novels with a passion (just like his Evelyn, which was good to know). It was almost like the time where they has spent the whole day marooned in a car on the beach because he wasn't a very accomplished driver; just them, talking about little things, not judging, just sharing.

She sipped her whisky and said "You know, of all of Rafe's family, I like you best."

"Oh." Really, what else could he say? Thank you, I really like you too? Or maybe he should just tell her the truth and say that he had never loved anyone the way he did her? Leaning against that kitchen counter, sharing the illicit glass of liquor, he loved her even more than he ever thought he could love someone.

She spoke again, and this time her voice was heavy with emotion. "I'm glad you decided to drop by, and not because of the legal problem or whatever. I'm just glad that I got to meet you."

XXXXX

i know i keep saying that i'm not gonna be updating so often, and someday this will be true.


	8. Home Again

hi!

this is the longest friggin' chapter i have ever written!

i was proof-reading this late at night, so do let me know if you find any boo-boos.

disclaimer:standard dislcaimer applies. please refer to prologue.

XXXXX

Rafe came home with bad news. The guy with the lawyer had showed up at the garage, and offered to make a deal with him; he'd call off the lawsuit if Rafe would give him $2000 upfront.

"I told him to give me some time to think it over." He looked at Danny "Not that I'm questioning your skills or anything like that, but Evelyn's right about us not being able to afford lawyer. Anyway, what do you think?"

"He doesn't have much of a case. His claim is that you were negligent in fixing the car, which caused the accident. If you can show that you did what any reasonable mechanic would, there goes his case." It wasn't that simple, of course, but that was the gist of his findings.

"But the point is that we can't afford to go to court to prove that Rafe was reasonable. We're screwed."

John trotted into the hall; he had been sent off to bed some time earlier and should be asleep. He walked up to Evelyn and climbed into her lap. "You didn't read to me tonight, Ma."

There were dark circles under her eyes, caused by stress and exhaustion, because of the legal issues as well as running the house. She ran a hand through his thick blonde hair and said "Mommy's really tired tonight, John. I'll read you two tomorrow."

"Maybe just a short one?" He tried his luck, a trait he must have picked up from his father.

"I'll read to you." He didn't know why he said that; what if the child was just crying out for his mother's attention? Now he'd be stuck with some boring, self-conscious adult.

But there was no need to worry, because John's cherubic face lit up and he asked "Then can I have a long one?"

"Sure." Already the little boy had leapt from his mother's grasp (his loyalty clearly extended to those who would read him to sleep) and was running up the stairs as fast as his short legs could carry him. Evelyn mouthed a silent thank-you in his direction and he smiled at her. Really, he had bled into a Coke bottle for her once; what was reading a story after that?

John wanted "The Jungle Book". He was surprised that the child was allowed to read such a dark book, until he opened the book and realised that it was a sanitised, condensed version. Akela and gang looked like fluffy puppies and Bagheera turned out like a longish cat. Shere Khan was nowhere to be seen. John fell asleep before the wolf council had even decided to adopt the little baby, but Danny read the whole book anyway. Long ago, he had crouched under his bed with torchlight and let Bagheera, Kaa and the rest take him far, far away from his father's drunken rants below. So he read the whole book, which was not so much reading as a reunion with an old friend.

Despite the general air of despair that hung over the house, Danny slept well that night; somehow, the problem of disgruntled customers paled in comparison to the things they had all faced back in "reality". It was something he could deal with.

The first thing that caught Danny's attention when he awoke in was the pile of neatly folded that rested on the nightstand. It was his uniform, which he had left lying around yesterday after changing into Rafe's clothes; Evelyn must have washed them for him. There was also another pair of Rafe's pants and shirt in the pile, evidence that they expected him to stay on a while longer. He was wondered whether he was overstaying his welcome when he heard an alien voice coming from downstairs. Visitors, so early in the morning? He really had to learn to rise sooner.

Quickly shrugging on whatever was on top of the pile, he tiptoed down the stairs, mindful of the fact that it could be a private affair.

It was not. From his viewpoint on the stairs, he could see clearly into the hall. Rafe and Evelyn sat together at the table, opposite a man in a sharply-cut suit. His black hair was slicked back with some substance that made it look greasy, adding to the overall weaselly appearance created by his constant fidgeting with the hat in his hands. He spoke pompously, gesticulating wildly as he did so, but never once took his eyes off the couple seated before him. He had to be the lawyer.

Danny didn't realise what a sight he was coming down the stairs; 6 foot 3, lean, smartly uniformed, silver wings displayed proudly on his chest. The room fell silent as he entered and the lawyer even stopped fiddling with his hat.

Still, being the lawyer that he was, the man was first on his feet to greet Danny. "Good morning, I am George Sheppard from Norton Agnew and Rose, New York Lawyers, representing Mr. Robert Singer."

Danny stood behind Rafe and Evelyn and eyed the lawyer. "Morning. Let's not waste any time; I'd like to hear the basis of your case."

George's hand tightened on the hat. "Of course. Your friend negligently repaired my client's truck and this caused the accident. He's rightly claiming the cost of repairs and was kind enough not to press for damages for emotional trauma and the such."

"Didn't Rafe tell your client that the truck was pretty far gone? From what I heard, your client was the one who told him to do what he could and then drove the rustbucket around and gave it to his kid. YOUR client should be sued for reckless endangerment. Not only is he responsible for the grievous injury of his son, he knowingly endangered other road users by continuing to drive that truck."

The lawyer blinked. His hands worked furiously on the hat. "I hardly think…my client has been most gracious, but you think you can use your half-assed legal work to weasel out of this?"

Danny had had enough of this guy; he obviously didn't believe in the merits of his own case and had just been trying his luck as scoring some quick bucks. He leant forward and placed his hands on the table, so that he was eye to eye with the lawyer. "No. I think you are behind this, you cut-rate legal rat. You saw an opportunity to make some fast money and a reputation out of a bunch of country hicks who don't know the law and can't afford a lawyer of their own."

The lawyer sputtered indignantly, but he raised his voice slightly. "I think you should take your imitation suit and fake courtesies back to your New York based legal firm and find some other case to justify your appointment as the latest legal assistant before I bring this travesty of a case to the attention of your employers."

Some sort of inner struggle was being waged in George Sheppard; the poor hat was being bent irreparably and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. Finally, he stood up and said "I see. I shall discuss this matter with my client and return to you shortly." And with that, he practically bolted for the door, faced scrunched up like he was sucking on lemons. The door banged shut and sounds of a car being started came from outside. It wasn't until the car had pulled away in a cloud of smoke that anyone spoke.

Rafe leapt from seat, grabbed Danny's hand and shook it furiously. "Man, that was amazing, the way you just took him apart," he gushed, admiration clear in his eyes. "I wanted to wring his neck, but your way is much better!"

Evelyn was smiling; grinning from ear to ear. She caught his sleeve and said "Good thing I brought the uniform up, huh?"

In the centre of attention of the people he loved, seeing the joy in their faces, Danny did the one thing that came naturally to him in situations like these; he blushed. "I didn't do much. I mean, he still hasn't called off the case yet."

But even as he spoke, they laughed. "I think he's pretty much done for," Evelyn said, patting his shoulder.

"You saved our asses, kid," Rafe said. "And to think I ain't even heard of you before this week. Blood or not, you're family now." And just as the warmth of those words spread through Danny, Rafe leant forward and pulled him into a one-armed hug.

XXXXX

A loud crash tore him from his dreams. Rafe jumped out of bed in a blind panic, ready to throw the windows open and look skyward for death-raining Zeros when it struck him that that was probably the sound of Daniel kicking down the door in a drunken stupor again. Then he was mad. It was one thing to be morose and alcoholic; another thing altogether to be disruptive and rude.

Determined to give the detective a piece of his mind, since everyone else seemed to just bend to his will, he marched out and came to a stop in front of the room next to his. The door was closed and the lights were off, but he could hear some scuffing sounds coming from within the room. He was in there alright.

"Hoy, Daniel, you in there?" He pushed on the abused door, but called out because basic courtesy required it of him.

"Don't open the door!" At least he was lucid enough to understand that someone was talking to him. He took his hands off the door, not wanting to catch the guy undressed or worse. "We need to talk."

"DON'T open the door." There was an urgency in the detective's voice that couldn't have come from the mere fear of being found naked or in the middle of something questionable. Rafe's anger evaporated.

"You alright?"

There was silence for such a long time that he considered breaking in the door anyway, but then Daniel spoke in a measured tone, like he was dealing with someone who couldn't understand his instructions. "Push the door open slightly. Don't come in."

He did exactly as was told. The door opened with no resistance. The confines of the room were dark and the minimal amount of light streaming in from outside did nothing to illuminate it. The detective was still nowhere in sight.

"Okay. Now step back a bit."

He did so.

"Do you have enough light to see?" This question was followed by silence, and Rafe realised that he was waiting for an answer. "Yeah, pretty much."

"Look for a string or wire spanning the width of the door. It'll be thin so look carefully."

Rafe knelt down, an innate move born of too many crime movies. The barely-there light made it difficult to see anything, so he squinted and was rewarded by a bare glimmer of light being reflected by something. It was not the kind of thing that he would have noticed ordinarily, and it was so low that he would probably have stepped over it on his way in. "I think I found it."

"Where?"

"Umm…somewhere near the bottom. Really near the bottom."There was silence again as the detective processed this information, but he was expecting that.

"You know where Louisa is. Tell her to come here, and wait therewith Chuck."

Rafe was about to do as he was told, but as he turned his back on the door, he heard the sound of a gun being cocked. He hesitated for a moment, unable to decide what to do; which really meant that there was only one thing to do.

He went back to the room and said "It's me, don't shoot." There was more scuffling from inside and then Daniel said "Just listen to me, damnit! You'll get us both killed!"

But when had that ever stopped him from doing something he needed to? Slowly, Rafe placed one foot inside the room, taking care to step over the wire. Once he was confident that his upper body was properly within the room, he pulled his other foot in, slowly, avoiding the low wire again. He breathed in gratefully, unaware that he was holding his breath all this time.

His next course of action was to fumble around the wall near the door for a light switch; the uneasy feeling in his chest dissipated slightly as he listened to the steady sound of Daniel breathing. He found it and flicked it on.

"Aaghh." The detective was sprawled on the floor by the dresser, shielding his eyes with a hand. "Some warning wouldn't have killed ya."

He was about to say something about how light only hurt the wasted when he realised that something was not quite right about the sight before him. Daniel was lying on the floor, arms and legs splayed wide; from his position by the door, he could see all of his right leg, but his left leg seemed to disappear after the knee.

"Hey, man, you alright?" He quickly stepped closer, and saw that there was a deep indentation in the floor right next to the dresser and that was where his leg had disappeared into.

"Forget about me. You need to finish off the wire business."

"Just let me help you up, and you can look at it yourself."

"I can take care of myself. Just…just listen to me, for once."

"Fine." He understood that, for whatever reason, the Daniel was not comfortable with the idea of being approached at the moment. Crouching by the door, he found the wire with ease this time around. "Okay, what do you want me to do?"

"Look at the corners of the door for some extra wire that's unattached to anything."

He found it near the hinges; a 3 foot-long, hairline-thin strand of wire pooling innocuously. It was then that he realised the concept behind this particular mechanism. A normal tripwire was always rigged tightly to whatever device it was supposed to trigger, so that the barest of movements would set it off, such as the opening of a door. This one was made with extra wire, so that the thing was not triggered when the door was first opened. Why on earth someone would make such a trigger was beyond him.

"Any chance you'll find it before my hair turns grey?"

"Ha ha. It's near the hinges. What now?"

"Cut it as close to possible to the loose end. Don't pull it. In fact, you can go fetch Louisa now."

He was at a loss as to how he was supposed to cut the wire without so much as a fingernail cutter, but he was in too deep to leave now. When he touched the wire lightly, the first thing that came to his mind was how brittle it was. Murmuring a short prayer to the man upstairs, he gripped the wire with his fingernails.

"Oy, what are you doing?" There was the faintest hint of panic in the detective's voice.

He closed his eyes and applied pressure.

The wire snapped cleanly, or at least, he supposed so because of the lack of explosions or dangerous projectiles.

"Not bad." Daniel pushed himself up onto his elbows, still keeping a hand on his gun. "You can close the door now. And lock it."

He did as bid and went back to the detective's side. The latter stiffened as he approached and quickly manoeuvred into a sitting position without moving his left leg. Now that he was close, Rafe could see that the indentation, into which the motel's cheap carpet had sunk, ran the length of the dresser, and that Daniel's foot was in the corner of this indentation. Rafe guessed that he must have twisted or broken his ankle-

-until he spotted a dark stain by his foot. "Do you want me to help you up?"

"We'll see," he said. "Here goes nothing." Rafe had barely heard his answer when the detective pulled his foot from the indentation. There was a faint tinkling sound, eclipsed almost immediately by his pained gasp. He lifted his foot and for the first time, Rafe realised what had happened. Then he was nauseous.

Embedded in Daniel's foot and ankle was broken glass shards, and he could see more of those shards peeking from beneath the torn carpet. His face was scrunched up, and something in Rafe's heart gave way. It didn't matter that he knew very well that this wasn't his Danny, or that this guy was a sadistic nutter or even that this injury was in no way life-threatening, he couldn't bear the sight of that face in such obvious distress.

He reached a hand out to help Daniel up. Wrong move. The gun was immediately redirected in his direction, and the detective's lips were pressed together in a thin line. "What are you doing?"

He held his hands up in a placating gesture. "I'm just trying to help you up."

"I can handle it." He wormed his way over to the bed, leaving a trail of blood on the carpet, and tried to pull himself up without putting any weight onto his injured foot. Rafe watched him struggle until, panting, he managed to flop onto the bed with his legs hanging off at the knees. He was contemplating getting the detective some medical attention when he just bent over and pulled one of the shards from his foot.

"Hey!" This foolish attempt at self-mutilation was followed by a spell of grimacing and sheet-clutching. "Stop that."

He was as white as the sheet, breathing heavily, but still found the gall to say "Stop telling me what to do."

"You're not a doctor."

"And you are?" Good God, it was like talking to a 2-year old.

"I'm just saying that ain't a good idea to go pulling those out on your own. God only knows where those hands have been."

"Yeah, well, I'm not going to the hospital. He'll have people there, just waiting…no clinics either. You got any other bright ideas?"

He did, but there was no telling how Daniel would take to that idea. No, actually, Rafe had a pretty good idea; he would probably find the gun in his face again. "You could let me help you." He felt like he was saying that for the umpteenth time that night.

Whilst the gun remained unmoved by Daniel's side, his eyes were immediately filled with distrust. "Why the fuck would I let you do that?"

Something he had come to learn over the years was that, when dealing with paranoid types, that it never helped to point out that they were being just that; instead, it was best to deal in cold, intellectual arguments. Again, he thought of Danny, who was much better at handling logic than he was.

"Look at what you're doing now. You're bent over and holding your foot in a twisted angle just so you can see it. You're tensing every muscle in your leg, which is only going to make it more painful when you pull the glass out." He hadn't been interrupted yet, a good sign, so he ploughed on. "I can see your foot quite clearly and I will have two hands to use. Plus, years of running around barefoot in a cornfield makes you an expert at picking out splinters."

The detective sighed and toyed with the corner of his coat for so long that Rafe had to fight the urge to fidget. Finally, he looked up and said "Fine."

That was close to an hour ago. In that hour, Rafe had built a small pile of bloody glass shards on the carpet, realised that it was unspeakably difficult to get a grip on glass with tweezers and learnt that he hated Hasford with all of his guts. For all of his initial reluctance, Daniel had actually left him to do what he will, and was now lying flat-out on his back, a position which meant that he couldn't even see what Rafe was doing.

"This is just a little piece."

The rustling sound of sheets again. Daniel had been clenching fistfuls of the cheap sheets as some sort of dealing mechanism, and the horrid sound was imprinted in his mind now.

The glass slid out with little resistance and he could hear the sigh of relief from above. It was not always such easy going. He had started with the smaller pieces first, for fear that they might embed themselves deeper within the flesh and go unnoticed. After a while, the detective started squirming a little, so he had tried to get his mind off things by carrying on a conversation. When Daniel's response to that conversation had digressed from short one-liners to monosyllables and finally a snarl, he stopped and worked in silence. The only problem with that was that he could literally hear the sound of the detective's teeth grinding, along with every gasp, twitch and sharp intake of breath.

The bigger shards were harder to handle, mainly because most were embedded to deep and were of such irregular shapes that they couldn't be removed in one move; he ended up working them out while trying to block out the sound of Daniel's short, choppy breaths. It didn't help that the detective was trying to hide his pain as much as he could; when he moaned, which was rare enough, it was muffled.

He set to work on a larger shard stuck right in the arch of his foot. "He's not trying very hard to kill you, is he?"

"What? This isn't good enough for you?"

"I mean, what's the point of the extra wire? If he'd stuck to the original device, you'd be dead as soon as you opened the door." He touched the glass, trying to see how deeply it was embedded. It dropped out at the touch, for which he thanked providence.

"No fun. Lots more exciting if I tripped the wire on my way out with the game leg, eh?"

He could imagine it. Danny, hurt and bleeding; rushing for the door to get help and tripping the low-strung wire because he was dragging his leg instead of walking normally. It was sick. "That's really fucked up."

"It's also genius, making someone the engineer of their own death. Almost art."

"You really believe that?"

There was silence again. "If I say no, will you leave me alone and finish up?"

He took the hint. Turning his attention back to the wounded foot, he noticed that there were only two shards to deal with; one medium-sized piece at the very end of his heel and a monster at the left of the heel whose tip emerged just beneath the ankle. It would be a bitch to get out.

He tugged on the smaller one and it came out without much trouble. "Okay, just one more to go."

"Get on with it, then."

Yeah, well, that's where the problem started, didn't it? He had no idea where to begin, because each scenario in his head involved inflicting grievous pain on the person lying before him. "Umm, this might hurt a little more than the rest, but then we're done."

Something in his voice must have alerted Daniel to the reality of the situation because he said "Visit-the-dentist kind of hurt or bite-down-on-my-belt kind of hurt?"

Steeling himself, Rafe used his fingers to break off the tip of the glass that protruded near his ankle; he couldn't risk pulling it back through the flesh and have it break somewhere in there. This must have hurt quite a bit, because Daniel jerked his foot out of his grasp with a gasp. "God!"

"I'm not done."

"What?" For the first time since he began his task, the detective reacted with some recognisable fear.

"Just a little bit more."

"I thought you said there was just one bit left?"

"Yeah, but it's not fully out yet…it's okay, the worst bit is over." That was a blatant lie, but it normally gave people hope to know that the worst of things was over.

"Okay."

"Okay." He dumped the tweezers, choosing possibly germy hands over the clumsy fumbling the clean equipment would have caused. Gripping the bloody end that jutted out, he tugged.

Two things happened. The shard of glass moved a negligible amount and Daniel shot up. He tugged slightly harder, hoping to pull it out once and for all, but there was just too much resistance because of the angle at which it was wedged in. Suddenly, hands gripped his shirt, demanding attention. "Stop, stop," he said through clenched teeth. "Just stop!"

It was shocking, especially since he spent the last hour relatively quiet. "Stop, please…please," he begged, eyes haunted.

Slowly, he stood up and caught Daniel's wrists in his hands, forcing the detective to let go. He'd give anything to have handed this mess over to a trained doctor without an attachment to those damn eyes, but that was clearly behind them now. "Look, I know it hurts, alright. I know. But there's just one piece to go, Danny. Just one piece." He spoke in a low, continuous tone that came naturally after years of soothing away nightmares and the like.

"It's okay if you cry. Scream even…it'll help. I'm not gonna think any less of you. God knows I'd have been begging for morphine before we started."

Something changed abruptly in Daniel's demeanour; he seemed almost resigned and altogether emotionless. Flopping back onto the bed, he said without meeting Rafe's eyes "Just get it over with."

Taking opportunity of the sudden icy treatment, he knelt down and began again. The glass yielded bit by bit; the wound oozed blood as the foreign object slowly slid out. There wasn't a sound from Daniel, not one peep. He didn't even move. As the shard emerged, he could see why it was so difficult to remove; it was curved somewhat and must have hooked onto the flesh that it came into contact with.

Now that the curve had come out, it only took the lightest of tugs to completely remove the whole thing. It was covered in blood, as was his hand, and looked like something that belonged back in _that_ day. Not that he cared one whit about the damn shard now that it was out. Rising quickly, he ignored the pins and needles caused by the sudden rush of blood into his legs and went to the side of the bed. It was his first proper look at Daniel since this whole ordeal began.

The detective still gripped the sheets tightly, sweaty, pale and trembling. His hair, already messy, was plastered to his forehead and there was a heavily-bleeding cut on his lip where he must have bitten it instead of crying out. Stubborn bastard. Rafe wouldn't be surprised if he passed out now; his breathing was still shallow and irregular.

He laid a gentle hand on the man's shoulder. "Hey, you gonna be okay?" It was a stupid question; his foot was in ribbons and the whole thing was done without the slightest amount of drugs. He just hoped that the alcohol he chugged earlier had done something to fog his senses.

"Peachy."

That made him smile. "Says the guy who's too drunk to stand."

"Oh, haha," he snorted "You think you're a doctor, and now a comedian? Word of advice; don't give up your day job."

"You might wanna hold off insulting me until I'm finished here."

His eyes narrowed. "I thought you were."

"You expect me to leave you bleeding and septic? That wound's gotta be cleaned and bandaged."

Daniel's tone became serious once more. "With what?"

"This place has first-aid kits in every room, in the closet. Pretty good deal, really." He walked over to the closet and pulled it open, noting as he rummaged for the kit that Daniel either enjoyed playing up to the whole detective image or he had really bleak and limited taste; his clothes were all in shades of black, grey and tan. There was an odd dark blue t-shirt in the mess, but that was as far as it went in the department of creative expression.

Having found the kit, he returned to Daniel's side and pulled out the antiseptic provided; a bottle of Acriflavine. "Alright, let's get this over with."

He found a strong arm gripping his wrist this time. "Stop. Let me see the bottle."

This was surprising. He pried his hand out of the detective's grasp and went back to unscrewing the bottle cap. "Hey, look, Flavine doesn't even burn. It'll be fine."

"Give it here." It was a command.

"No."

Daniel lunged for the bottle and stole it from within Rafe's fingers and flung it at the wall in one liquid motion. The bottle shattered on impact.

"What the hell-"

He stopped short at the sight of the wall. Where the brownish liquid had spattered on the wall, the paint fizzled and smoked.

"You think he wouldn't have thought of that?"

He was at a loss for words. No wonder Daniel was a poster boy for paranoia. "I…I'll get the kit from my room, then."

He couldn't help but the drip a little bit of the Flavine on the floor before applying it to the wounds. Thankfully, it was just that; Flavine. The gauze and miserable wad of cotton provided were both yellow with age, but there was nothing else and they didn't seem dirty. Daniel was compliant throughout, never so much as making a sound as he worked.

Rafe realised the reason for this when he stood up. The detective was almost swaying where he sat; blinking resolutely to stay awake. His wet t-shirt clung to him and he shivered slightly, possible coming down with something. It was no surprise, considering everything he had been through.

"You done?"

He didn't answer the question, choosing instead to walk over to the closet and pullout the dark blue t-shirt. "You need to get outta those wet clothes."

He handed the garment to Daniel, who just held it and sat on the bed. "What are you waiting for?"

The latter just made a twirly gesture with his hand, and Rafe wondered whether he was all there when he realised that he was being asked to turn around. He complied, but felt a little amused. The guy was used to seeing organs in artwork, but was queasy about going topless.

"Damnit." The uttered exclamation made him turn around to see Daniel bending for the blue t-shirt, which he had evidently dropped; a position which allowed Rafe a full view of his bare back, the sight of which nearly made him puke.

Someone had, in a slanting line, carved the word 'bad' in his flesh; the scarred tissue stood up against the skin like the upraised letters on the cover of a book.

He averted his eyes as Daniel straightened up, quickly pulling on his t-shirt as he did so. "I broke a bottle of Jack when I was 13, Dad got angry. Some people shouldn't be allowed to have kids. Boo hoo. Get over it."

How could he get over it? Right now he wanted to wring Cole's neck or kill something similarly disgusting. Tears clouded his vision; he was so _angry_.

"What time is it?" Daniel's question drew his attention away.

Checking his watch, he was surprised to see that it was just past 12; it felt like the whole night had flown by. "It's just a little after 12."

The detective propped up the pillows and leant against them, drawing the blanket up to his waist. "Huh. Tickets for Jersey would be open now, seeing how it's tomorrow already. You can get one if you go now."

Did he look that easy to get rid of? "Nahh, I'll hang around here for a while. I need some rest after everything, don't you think?"

Daniel shrugged. He dragged a chair over to the side of the bed and sat down gratefully, feeling all sorts of aches and pains. The detective blinked a few times and began fiddling with the corner of his sleeve. Then he picked up his gun and checked the bullets in the magazine. And checked it again.

"You don't have to worry about being a good host, man. Just sleep."

"Huh?" He looked genuinely puzzled.

"You don't have to stay up on my account. You look half-gone as it is, so just sleep. I'll turn the lights off if that's what's bugging you."

He blinked at Rafe for a moment, and then laughed; a short, cynical cackle. "Sleep? So you can strangle me?" Seeing Rafe's indignant expression, he continued "Look, thanks for everything, but you can't expect me to believe that you'll just sit there and be a good little guard dog all night long while I get some shut-eye. What's your angle?"

"There is no angle." This was truly exasperating; after all that he had done, was it too much to ask for a little trust? "I know you're tired, so I'm telling you to sleep. If someone does try to come in and kill you, I'll wake you up. No angle anywhere. Why can't you believe me?"

"Because…because people don't do that. They just don't."

And all of a sudden, that feeling came back; that same feeling that made him want to hug the kid and show him that the world didn't only consist of murderers and thugs. He sighed. "I don't know how else to tell you, but I'm not going to hurt you. I don't want to. Believe me, don't believe me…it's up to you."

He got up and turned off the bright fluorescent light, leaving on only the incandescent light from the lamp on the nightstand. Daniel looked younger in the dim, orange glow; the lines on his face hidden in shadows. He was still sitting up, but paid no attention to Rafe as he sat down once more.

For all of his protestations, it took less than half an hour for Daniel to sink slowly into a normal sleeping position. Rafe didn't move, not wanting to give him reason to be alert again. From his viewpoint in the chair, he could see as the blinks became fewer and farther between, and finally ceased altogether. Years of listening to Danny breathe in the dark meant that he was aware of the change in the detective's breathing as he fell asleep; the short breaths gave way to longer, deeper ones.

Once he was sure that Daniel was well and truly asleep, he slowly got up and pulled the blanket over his shoulders, making sure that the corners were tucked in and resisting the temptation to run his hands through the boy's hair. Once that task was done, he settled into the not-so-comfortable-anymore chair and began his vigil.

It was sometime around 4 in the morning when he had to answer the call of nature. Drying his hands on his pants (the towels were all used and blood-soaked) as he came out, he noticed Daniel sitting up, eyes wide and hand tightly gripping the polished gun. His head whipped around at the sound of his footsteps.

It was a moment he would not forget. Daniel's eyes were filled with such obvious relief as they alighted on him, and even a small glimmer of hope; much like a kid discovering that Santa had left something for him too. That look was gone in a flash, and those walls came back up, but he had seen it.

"Thought you'd have left by now."

"Guess not."

"There's not going to be many tickets left. They sell out pretty fast."

He sat down and put his feet up on the bed. "I suppose I'm stuck here, then."

Daniel shot him a half-smile that was genuine, and turned around. Sinking back into the bed, he slid an arm under the pillow and curled up under the blanket; he fell asleep before Rafe could bring himself to believe what he was seeing. The sound of Daniel's deep, even breaths was like music to his soul, and he found himself grinning ear to ear. Anyone who walked in at that moment would have thought them crazy; a boy sleeping with a gun in hand and a man sitting by him, smiling at nothing apparent. They wouldn't know the truth of the matter; that in that moment, the two of them were more content than either remembered being in a long, long time.

XXXXX

well, that was my first ever true h/c piece. do let me know what you think about it!


	9. The Plot Thickens

hi!

disclaimer: standard disclaimer applies. refer to prologue.

XXXXX

It is only when he woke up that Rafe realised that he had drifted off to sleep. Daniel was awake, and watching him with undisguised interest.

"What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing, really. Just…"

"Just?"

"What's he like?"

"Who?" Rafe knew very well who, but he was stalling having to answer, for reasons he himself could not place a finger on.

"Danny."

He shrugged. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything. How'd you come to know him?"

That was actually a question he was glad to answer, because the incident was imprinted in his mind far clearer than anything should be. "We were in school; I was 5, but I got held back a year and Danny was just promoted up into our class because he was far too advanced for pre-school. Anyway, the teacher had given us the weekly spelling exercises and we had to exchange them to be marked. You can guess what kind of marks mine got, and I just didn't want to be the laughing stock of the class again."

Daniel was listening to him with such concentration. "And he had your paper?"

"Nahh. Some other kid, can't remember his name now. Anyways, Danny was sitting right behind me and this kid, and he tells him not to tell the teacher what I got. I was kinda pissed at first, 'cause I didn't want his pity, but the kid didn't listen. He made it a point to bring her attention to the real simple words I misspelt."

"Okay."

"Danny beat the living daylights outta him after the class. The teachers had to step in and break up the fight, and he got away from them twice to pick up where he stopped. No one had ever done that for me, ya know? I mean, everybody makes fun of my reading but we get along at the end of the day. This is the first time that someone cared about it…like maybe I wasn't stupid."

"Why'd he care so much if he didn't know you?"

"He's like that. We became friends after that, of course, and I realised that maybe he needed me more than I did him. He was different from the other kids; always had his head in the clouds. Nobody really understood him and he didn't care much about making them understand. Don't get me wrong, he had plenty of friends, but there was always this distance to him."

Daniel shook his head. "Now I feel like I got some long-lost twin out there somewhere. I guess I'd be the evil twin, huh?"

"Some time ago, I'd have agreed with you, but he's surprisingly morbid sometimes. Sure, he doesn't go around randomly shooting people, but I once caught him reading this…this…"

"Book?"

_For the third day in a row, Danny sat hunched over on his bed, completely lost in that book he had picked up at some garage sale. Rafe could see his eyes flicking left to right without pause, and sighed loudly, indicating his boredom. It went unnoticed. He sighed again. There was no sign from the dark-haired boy that he even knew Rafe was in the room. _

_He stuffed another handful of popcorn into his mouth, and realised that he was being far too nice. Taking careful aim, he lobbed a piece of the buttered snack at his friend; it hit him right in the middle of his forehead. Danny finally looked up, scowling. "What?"_

_"Come on, man…you've had your head in that book for three days now. Wanna go do something fun? We could go and race Johnny, he's been dying to test that new truck he got. Or we-" he stopped short when he noticed that his friend's eyes were focused on the book again. _

_"Hey!"_

_Danny doesn't even bother looking up. He made a non-committal sound and flipped the page. Annoyed, Rafe yanked the book from his clutches; that got his attention. "Hey!"_

_He opened it, noting the lack of description on the covers of the book. "What's this thing about anyway, that you can't even listen to me for awhile?"_

_"Nothing you'd want to know about."_

_That caught his attention. Despite full knowledge of his inability to read, Danny never dismissed his interest in books and the like. His estrangement from the written word was no fault of his, and his friend was always more than happy to bridge that gap. He opened a random page of the book and began reading, taking care to avoid Danny's attempts to snatch it back. _

_"Is it porn?"_

_"Yes, now give it back."_

_But it wasn't. It took him a while, but when he finally read through the page, Rafe didn't know what to think anymore. He wished it was porn. "What the hell is this?"_

_"Uhh…it's called the Necronomicon, but it's probably not a very accurate copy. Look-"_

_"Do you know what it says? It says that there's no hell, that…that Lucifer is actually a really nice guy and maybe we should listen to what he has to say!"_

_There was a slight smile on his face now, like he was trying not to laugh. Rafe didn't know why, since there was really nothing to laugh about. "No, it doesn't…well, not like that. It says that God and whatever's evil is real enough, but not in the sense that we know. They're just beings that are at odds, have always been and will always be, and we're just stuck in the middle. We're not the result of intelligent design, but a by-product of this conflict. There's no one trying to save us or corrupt us. No one cares. And that is why the book recommends learning whatever each side has to offer."_

_"You don't buy this shit, right? Tell me you know this is wrong."_

_"Rafe, I'm not gonna start sacrificing virgins at midnight or anything. I mean, all everyone ever hears is what Father Gregory says in church every Sunday, and I thought it would be interesting to get a different opinion for once." He managed to sound slightly miffed saying this, as if he had any right to. _

_"A different opinion is where you go to the Catholic or Methodist church, you maniac. This is like…like…" he was lost for words. _

_"You really think I'm going to start pitching for the other side?" There was a slight curtness to his tone, and Rafe realised that he had managed to put his friend down. _

_"Look, I'm just saying that you have a problem drawing lines. You always want to know more, understand more, but sometimes there are things people shouldn't know. If someone dropped Lucifer's gospel in front of me, I'd burn it. I wouldn't even think of reading it. Could you?"_

_At least he had the grace to look sheepish. "I guess not."_

"I'd read it. I mean, you'd be an idiot not to," Daniel cut in suddenly. "Imagine the kind of stuff that'd be in there if it existed...Lucifer's gospel."

"Don't get so excited. Angels, fallen or not, don't have gospels, remember?"

"You really believe in angels?" There was curiosity and amusement in his voice.

"Don't you?"

He laughed, and Rafe unhappily noted the cynicism that was so apparent. "Oh, come on. There are no angels; there's no God. There's just random, unpredictable evil that comes out of nowhere and rips you to shreds."

Rafe really didn't know what to say to that; Daniel had every right to believe that even if God existed, he was a cruel and capricious being. What kind of God would allow a man to carve words into an innocent boy? What kind of God would do nothing while young men died in the thousands and their murderers slowly took over the world?

"What I'd like to know where you learnt to drink like that."

If the detective noticed the abrupt change of subject, he made no mention of it. "Runs in the blood, doesn't it?"

"No. Three shots of Jack and Danny can't even walk in a straight line anymore. I think he never let himself cross that line, ya know, 'cause he didn't want to be like his Dad. But you look like you can drink Cole under the table." Rafe looked into Daniel's eyes. "And drinking was what killed him."

"Of all the things to kill me, you think it'll be the drink? I like your optimism," Daniel said, half-smiling. "Speaking of which, I think it's about time I got moving."

They walked to the police station in a sort of companiable silence. Daniel managed to keep a good pace despite his foot, which was cushioned in a pair of socks, and Rafe followed, still wondering why he had looked left, right, up and down before stepping out of the motel room. All this suspicion and double dealing was beginning to rub off on him.

The inside of the police station was like a beehive of activity, and all of the worker bees ceased humming the moment they entered. Every eye in the cramped quarters alighted on Daniel and stayed there, and the humming soon started again with a far more urgent tone. Again, if the detective noticed this, he did not acknowledge it. Instead, he walked straight to the back of the place, where several meeting rooms were lined up, and opened one of the doors.

Rafe caught a split-second glimpse of a female form leaning against the table before it launched itself towards Daniel in a blur of movement. Then, he saw Louisa, mascara smeared all over her face, clinging to him for all she was worth. Daniel, the social retard that he was, stood there awkwardly for a moment before patting her back in what was meant to be a placating gesture.

She got over herself pretty quickly. Letting go of Daniel, she brushed a tear away, smearing the mascara even more. "The meeting was at seven! When you didn't show, I… I thought you were dead. Where the hell were you?" She turned and glared at Rafe, as if he was responsible for the detective's tardiness.

Before Daniel could answer, the door swung open again and two people walked in; an older, ham-faced man in a cheap suit and a younger policeman in uniform. Louisa stopped slouching and stood at attention, but Daniel raised one eyebrow at the newcomers. He didn't know who to emulate, so he just stood as unobtrusively in the corner as possible.

The older man clapped Daniel on the shoulder. "Can't keep you down, eh? You oughta be on the front. Who's this?"

"Rafe MacCawley. He's a new lead. Rafe, that's Chief McAnson and this is Charles Whitley." He suddenly stopped, eyes darting to Louisa and Chuck. "If we're all here, who's watching him?"

"You don't know?" Chuck, despite his hulky exterior, had a surprisingly nasally voice.

"What?"

"He left early this morning, on our shift."

"What?" Daniel turned to Louisa, eyes narrowed dangerously. She cowered under the intense gaze.

"He got on the train to New York, Mike saw him. Before he left, he waved at me and Chuck. That's when I thought that…something went wrong."

"Come on now, detective. Lay off them. Given the circumstances, I think they did pretty well." The Chief evidently didn't take too kindly to Daniel's criticism.

"Oh, really? They just let the most dangerous criminal you'll lay your eyes on walk out with NO ONE FOLLOWING HIM! I think they screwed up fantastically, which is really nothing new for your department," he turned to glare at Louisa "but I expect better. Pack your bags. We're leaving."

"Good riddance."

They got onto the train for New York despite the fact that the tickets had been sold out a long time ago. Daniel just flashed his badge at some businessmen in the first class coach, took their tickets and they had a booth to themselves; all without bothering to offer an apology to the people whose lives he had inconvenienced. Daniel sat first, sliding along the seat to lean against the window. Rafe sat next to him, like he had done all his life, only to have the detective wave him away.

As the train pulled out of the station, Rafe leaned back into the plush seat next to Louisa, hoping to loosen the strained muscles in his back; that's what you got for sleeping in a hard chair all night. Alas, that was not meant to be. Daniel took the same departure as a cue to tear into Louisa. He made her go over every insignificant detail of her shift, taking care to point out everything she did wrong.

"And when you saw him leave, your first thought was to check every hotel in town for me? Why, so I can come hold your hand and tell you what to do?"

"I told you, I thought he'd gotten to you." Her voice quivered and tears brimmed in her eyes, but she wasn't crying.

"And finding my dead body was of utmost importance instead of following him? What, you thought you could resurrect me? Or did you just leave your brain at home?"

"Come on, man, people make mistakes sometimes." Rafe didn't think she had actually done anything wrong, but he wasn't getting into that argument.

"Mistakes get people killed." He glared at Louisa again, and then sunk into his seat. She leant back to, relief displayed clearly on her young face.

"How did you start working for the police?"

Surprised, she looked at Daniel, who just shrugged and stared out of the window. "I used to work in a diner. We got robbed one day and I called the police. They came in, did whatever they do and found nothing, of course. Then it happened again. This time, I followed the robbers, saw them unload the money to some drug-dealer and went to the police with what I knew. They sent me to see the detectives, and I showed Daniel everything I found out. He offered me a job on the spot."

"That's one hell of a story."

She laughed _mission accomplished_ "I guess. It's been one hell of a job."

"I know. I used to think that the army guys saw the worst of things, but I don't envy you lot."

"You have no idea. I was relieved when they posted my brother to the 100th. At least one of us won't be murdered."

"If it's that bad, why do you stay? Is the pay good?"

She rolled her eyes, and he laughed. "Okay."

"She makes money whenever I get a death threat. Speaking of which, how much did you make this time around?" Daniel butted into the conversation suddenly, but there was no animosity in his voice now.

"Almost two hundred. Everyone bet against you."

"She always bets on me surviving. One of these days she's gonna lose a lot of money."

"Never been wrong so far, has she?"

"What can I say, it's a woman's intuition."

"Wishful thinking, more likely. If I kick the bucket, you'd be out of a job."

Just then, Rafe caught sight of something moving in the corner of his vision. He turned, just as Daniel and Louisa did. It was a little boy, well-dressed and carrying a white envelope. "Delivery for Mr. Walker."

Daniel accepted the letter and waved the boy off. Inside the envelope was a single, thick card; an invitation to an art exhibition at some upscale New York gallery by Hasford. The sight of that name made his blood run cold and he understood now the fear he inspired in the hearts of those who knew him. Something was written at the back of the card in a neat script.

"What does it say?" Louisa beat him to it.

"I would be eternally grateful if you came, because no one understands my work like you do, Daniel. Bring a lady friend if you wish and, in parentheses, preferably someone who appreciates art instead of that dull girl you keep around. He goes on to say I would like to extend an invitation to your handsome military friend. Cheers, Doug."

XXXXX

They had lunch at the diner to celebrate. Kevin was not very good at brewing coffee, but he could make a mean steak and the vegetables were fresh. More importantly, everyone was there, and in a good mood. Rafe couldn't resist telling the whole story to the waitress, while Evelyn chatted animatedly with him; he could hardly recall being so damn happy just to be alive.

"I can't believe you don't have a girl," Evelyn said. "Is it a choice you made, because you're in the war or something?"

"It's complicated, Ev." That was the truth, wasn't it? "There is this girl, but she's really far away and I think she likes someone else."

"Not something you wanna talk about, huh? I don't blame you. I just asked because I was thinking that she'd have been real proud of what you did today. What about your parents?"

"They're both gone."

She looked like she was mentally kicking herself. "I'm so sorry."

"It's alright. They died when I was very young." Danny realised immediately that it probably wasn't the wisest thing to say when she bit her lower lip and stabbed furiously at a floret of broccoli.

"Do you have siblings?"

"Nope."

"You mean that there is no one out there who actually cares whether you exist?"

"I…I have friends."

Her eyes were glassy now and Danny felt horrible. "Please don't cry. I'm a very happy person."

"That's it. I'm adopting you."

He blinked. "Huh?"

"I'm adopting you. I'm going to bake you cookies and tape your drawings on the fridge." She said this with a straight face, and then burst out laughing.

"What? What's so funny?" Rafe turned his attention away from the waitress, looking intently at the two of them.

"Inside joke. It's not half as interesting as your waitress, though." Evelyn ribbed her husband and Danny felt a twinge of jealousy at the thought. Why hadn't this reality's version of himself ended up with her? He certainly wouldn't sit around flirting with the waitress if he had her.

"Speaking of jokes, have you heard the one about the Air Force lieutenant and the US Marine?"

He had, close to a million times, but he shook his head and allowed Rafe to launch into an enthusiastic rendition of the story. Evelyn laughed at the punch-line and he found himself genuinely laughing along.

The newspaper at home bore grim news; the Japanese had taken Malaya and Singapore looked like a lost cause. The skies over Europe still belonged to the Luftwaffe despite the injection of thousands of American airmen into the English force. Still, everyone was stepping up to the plate and doing their best to contribute to the war effort. Well, everyone except for him. He wondered how long it would take for the military police to show up here and take him away; rip him from this little slice of almost-heaven, this oasis of family in a world full of hatred and death.

You're a yellow-belly, a coward, the voice in his head screamed, running away from the fight like that. What would Rafe think?

A sudden knocking sound on the door drew him away from his thoughts. He quickly looked up to see if anyone was going to get it, but Evelyn was upstairs and Rafe had gone to pick little John up from pre-school.

"I'll get it." He rushed to the door, feeling a little unsettled. Perhaps it was them, the MPs.

He shouldn't have worried. The door opened to reveal a woman standing on the front porch; the first thing that he noticed about her was that her sky blue eyes stood in sharp contrast to her dark brown hair. She looked to be about Mrs. MacCawley's age, but her face was less lined and her frame more firm. He had never seen her before.

"Hello," she said, looking a little taken aback. "Ummm…"

"Elizabeth!" Evelyn ran down the stairs and around him to throw her arms around the shorter woman. "I thought you were still in the Catskills!"

"We were supposed to be, but it was raining so horribly so we cut the trip short." She looked at Danny. "Would you care to introduce me to your guest?"

Evelyn smiled. "Gosh, where are my manners. I think the two of you should like to meet each other. Elizabeth, this is Danny Walker. He's one of Rafe's cousins. Danny, this is my neighbour, Elizabeth Walker. Perhaps you're related?"

Elizabeth laughed, throwing her head back as she did so. "Evelyn, dear, just because we have the same name doesn't mean we're related. God help all the Smiths marrying other Smiths."

Danny wasn't laughing, not at all. It was all he could do to stay rooted while the world around him careened wildly out of control; he was vaguely aware that if he didn't slow the pounding of his heart, he would end up hyperventilating soon, but that mattered about as much as burnt toast in the middle of a whirlwind.

He knew very well who Elizabeth Walker was.

"Mom?"

XXXXX

hey y'all! been ages since i updated. actually, this was an unscheduled update, since my exams are like tomorrow. oh god...

anyway, there's a not-so-subtle Supernatural reference in this chapter. see if you can pick it out.

hope it was worth the wait.


	10. Blue Skies and Roses

hi!

disclaimer: standard disclaimer applies. please refer to prologue.

XXXXX

"Excuse me?"

"I was saying that…my, what striking eyes you have." He could barely think as she stared at him incredulously at first; her expression softened as he spoke.

"If I had a penny for every time I heard that…"she trailed off wistfully, before turning her gaze back to him. "But you have such beautiful eyes too. Hasn't anyone ever told you that?"

He shrugged, vaguely noting that it was a stupid answer; people either told him or they didn't. There was nothing to shrug about. "Uh, nice meeting you, Mrs. Walker. Excuse me." Danny knew how rude and pathetic that sounded, but he just couldn't stand there any longer, not in front of her. He walked towards the back door, taking care to walk slowly so as not to arouse further suspicion. The house never felt so stifling before; it was as if the walls were closing in around him, trying to prevent him from leaving.

Then he was out, and in the green cornfield. He tried to calm down, but found himself breaking into a run as he got further from the house. He ran like the wind nipped his heels, uncaring about the uneven ground or even where he was going; he just had to get away. The tall stalks of corn whipped his face and finally gave way to untilled ground, and he tripped so many times but always caught himself in time to keep on running.

Danny may not have cared where he was going, but his instincts led him back to the old hemlock tree that stood at the very edge of the MacCawley property. It grew right next to the roaring river, which was of course forbidden territory to children; when he was young, he would come here when he wanted to be alone. It was his secret place. Not even Rafe knew to look for him here.

He ran right to the edge of the river and fell to his knees in the damp ground, winded; he gasped for air and choked and half-sobbed all at once, unable to bear the fire burning in his chest that came from more than the lack of oxygen. Somewhere in the sky thunder roared, as if it was giving voice to his internal turmoil. Half of him wanted to scream, but the other half just wanted to shrivel up and die.

Slowly, Danny regained his breath and the frantic beating of his heart slowed, soothed by the solitude and the steady rush of the river. He leaned against the hemlock, feeling the bark against his back and looked up to the sky. It was darkening already; the sun glowed red, and it seemed like the sky was painted with blood. Danny closed his eyes, seeking reprieve from the crimson and saw blue skies in framed with long lashes, and abruptly opened them again.

For the first time since he came here, he questioned the reality of what was happening. Why didn't the alarm bells ring when he realised that Rafe wasn't _Rafe_? Was he crazy? Was this a dream from which he couldn't wake up?

"But you have such beautiful eyes too." Yes, he'd heard that before; contrary to what everyone believed, he did have some memories of his mother. He just didn't remember them very often.

_Hushed voices came from behind the closed door. He pressed his ear against the polished wood, knowing very well that he shouldn't be listening. _

_"Come on Beth, you really need to eat more. You can't get better if you don't get any nutrition." That was his father's voice._

_"Cole." His mother's voice was little more than a whisper, but if he leaned against the door real close, he could hear her too. "You know-"_

_"Don't say it. Just….you will get better, alright?"His mother was not very well; she didn't dance all around the house like she used to, and she wouldn't play anymore. His Dad didn't play anymore too. _

_"You have a lot of things to learn if you're going to look after Danny. He's reading already, do you know? I think he'll grow up to be intelligent…maybe even get into a university. You'll have to encourage him, to read more and stuff."_

_"You do it." _

_He didn't understand. Why did his Dad have to learn to do all these things? Where was his Mom going? Struck by the sudden urge to make sure she was still here, Danny pushed the door open; it was difficult because he couldn't reach the doorknob unless he tiptoed, but he managed to do it. _

_His Mom and Dad looked up in surprise as he came running into their room. She sat on the bed, looking very tired and his Dad stood by her side. Without really thinking, he clambered into her lap and hugged her. "Please don't go," he said, burying his face in her shoulder. "I won't be naughty anymore, I won't listen at the door."_

_Gentle hands stroked his hair. "I'm not going anywhere, dear. Not yet."_

_Contented, he closed his eyes, suddenly aware that he was up far past his bedtime. _

_"Come on kiddo, let's get you to bed." His Dad's hands were around him, and he suddenly, instinctively clung to his Mom. _

_"No. I want Mommy."_

_"She's busy right now."_

_He still didn't let go. "I want MOMMY."_

_"It's okay, Cole. I'll take him up."_

_She carried him up, humming lightly. She rarely ever did that anymore; most of the time, she was too tired to carry him. He looked up into her blue eyes; they were so beautiful, unlike his plain brown ones. "Your eyes are nice, Mom. I wish I have blue eyes," he said sleepily. _

_She laughed. "But you have such beautiful eyes too. Oh, Danny, what am I going to do with you?" _

_She sat in the large rocking chair, and begun to rock back and forth. As she did, she sang. It was the song she always sung to him, slow and soft. The rocking motion and her comforting presence lulled him deeper into sleep, content in the knowledge that she was there. Her voice filled the room and he fell asleep, forgetting all about his earlier fear. _

She died less than a month later. And then everything went to hell. Much calmer now, Danny absent-mindedly picked at the grass beside him. Clearly, this version of his mother didn't have a son that resembled him; that should have been a relief, because he had no idea how he would have come up with an explanation of who he was. Somehow, it didn't make him feel better. Sitting there under the tree, in his secret place, Danny made a decision. He would go back, thank Rafe and Evelyn for their hospitality and leave. It didn't matter if there was an army of lawyers after them, because he had just found his breaking point.

XXXXX

New York. He never liked the place; it was full of rude, self-obsessed people pretending to be something they were not. It was one of those places that did not seem to feel the effect of the war. Elsewhere, things were more solemn. Most people had already lost someone they knew and this was enough to drape a sense of mortality over the general population.

He knew from the moment he stepped off the train that things hadn't changed much here. It was night when they arrived, and already the streets were full of people dressed to the nines out seeking a good time. A couple standing right outside the station discussed a play that they had just watched and the woman commented that the army band that had played as guests of honour at he beginning could benefit from a few music lessons.

"I'm going home." Louisa's sudden comment stopped him from confronting the woman and asking her whether she knew that half of the men in the band would probably never get to play an instrument ever again.

"Yeah. See you tomorrow then." Daniel bade her goodbye with his hands in his pockets. He may have a lot of brains, but someone had clearly failed to teach him manners.

"Do you want us to walk you home?" He pretended not to notice the look of horror on Daniel's face.

"Don't bother. It's not too far away, and no one's gonna mess with me." She waved at them and walked on, leaving the two men alone.

"Uhh, I hate to say this, but I'm really broke, seeing how I didn't plan for a cross-country trip anyway…so if we get a motel room or something, do you mind paying for me first? I'll pay you back as soon as I can."

The detective let him speak and almost grovel before saying "Actually, I have a place here. You can stay if you like."

When Daniel had said that he had a place here, Rafe was not expecting this. A small flat would have been his first guess, or even a mid-size house on the edge of the city. Instead, he found himself being led up of one the swankier apartments by a primly-uniformed bellboy to the penthouse suite. _The friggin' penthouse suite_. Perhaps he should take up policing too; it certainly seemed to pay well.

The detective took forever to open the door, not that it was his fault, of course. The door had a numeric lock, which meant that it could only be opened someone who knew the combination; that or brute force, which involved trying every possible combination there was. It was not something he'd put past Hasford. Still, he was willing to bet that no one except for Daniel knew what the combination was; heck, he probably changed it everytime he left the house.

It turned out that the lock had fourteen numbers on it.

The door swung open, and Daniel stepped back to let him in first. The sight that met his eyes was not something that he was expecting. Rafe didn't notice the plush furniture or the yard-long aquarium separating the living room from the kitchen; he was too busy taking in the sight of the whole city that was visible through the glass that formed the fourth wall of the penthouse.

"Thank you."

Rafe turned around to see Daniel standing in the doorway with a smug smile. "Huh?"

"I take your gawking as praise to the absolute awesomeness of my penthouse."

"Take it as whatever you want, man. How the hell does a guy like you get a house like this?"

Daniel shucked off his coat and sunk into an oversized couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table as he did so. "You really want to know?"

"Good God, you didn't kill someone, did ya?"

"Nahh…I wasn't so…so driven back then."He wouldn't have picked "driven" to describe the detective's work ethics himself, but was pleased to note that returning home seemed to have an uplifting effect on his mood.

"Okay, I'll bite. What did you do?"

"I told you I was working on a case involving the mob, right? Well, one day, I go home and I find one of the goons higher up on the food chain waiting for me. He says the usual things; don't wanna mess with the wrong people, you'll beg for death before the end, blah blah blah. At that point, I didn't care one whit about who won, because our client was a total ass himself. I told the guy to stick his threats where the sun doesn't shine and make me an offer instead. He started off with a car and I told him I wanted my own legal firm. We worked our way to a penthouse."

"All that to get you off the case?"

"Of course not. I wasn't even the senior counsel. I threw the case."

"What does that mean?"

"Hmmm…said things which made clear to the other side where the weak points of our case was, didn't really bear down on their weaknesses. Advised the important witnesses against saying too much."

"You purposely lost?"

"Not quite. The judge hated this mob guy. He would have convicted him even if he had a dollar of unaccounted profits. We won."

"And they still gave you the house?"

"Yeah. I managed to convince one of the Supreme Court justices that the judge on this case was biased, which he was, of course. He reviewed the case. I went back and told the partners at my firm that I wanted to join the police and they wrote me this sparkling recommendation letter for promotion and all that. I was gone before they found out about the review."

"I can't imagine the number of enemies you must have. People running around all over the place wishing you dead."

"That's what war's like, no? People running, flying, sailing at each other with the sole purpose of killing the other one. How is that different from what this?"

"Well, it's like something Danny said to me once. The people doing the fighting don't really have anything against each other. We're kinda fighting against each other for ideals we don't completely get. The only reason I'm in this is because the other side is doing things that no person with any sort of moral compass would do. Here, no one is trying to kill American detectives or corrupt legal assistants; they want you dead. You and only you. There's your difference."

"Hmmm…you want a drink? I need a drink?" He returned the favour and pretended not to notice the change of subject.

"No, thanks. I'll turn in now. Where do you want me to sleep?"

"The guest room is over there."

"Thanks." He stood up and walked over to the room, feeling tired despite not having done much over the day except travel.

"Just…don't wander around at night. Hasford's not the only one who sets traps."

He woke up in the middle of the night with his tongue stuck to the back of his throat, belatedly realising that he should have at least drunk a glass of water before going to sleep. Now he was going to have to navigate through a booby-trapped house to get a drink.

Cursing himself, Rafe silently tiptoed out of the guest room, carefully looking for wires or triggers of any sort. For all of his fear, the trip to the kitchen was uneventful and he was walking back to his room when he saw something in the corner of his eye. Quickly ducking behind the wall, he peered at the form.

Standing by the glass wall was Daniel. His forehead was pressed against the glass, but his eyes were open and alert. He was watching the city like some sort of dark knight; looming over its various soulless inhabitants was a saviour just as depraved as them. As he watched the detective watch the city, Rafe was glad that Daniel could not see him. The detective had stripped off his shirt and his bare back was clearly visible, along with the horrendous scar that marred the otherwise perfect skin. A glass of something alcoholic was in his hand, ignored. The lights from the city dimly illuminated his face, and the walls that were up during the day had gone down in this solitude. Rafe could see the turbulence in his eyes and the weariness in his face, all inflicted by the horrors he had inflicted and been inflicted with. It confirmed what he had suspected ever since that night in the motel room; somewhere inside that hardened, callous sociopath was the same sensitive soul Danny had, and it was being tormented by the life he had chosen for himself.

Still, he harboured some hope for Daniel. Despite the fact that he routinely saw the worst of mankind, he was fighting to make things right. With all the knowledge he had of the underworld, he could easily have run some sort of illicit business and be living comfortably at the moment, with all the wealth, luxury and girls he wanted; instead, he was a detective, and on the tail of one of the most evil men out there. Whilst the detective himself did not view this as an act of altruism, he knew that it stemmed from some inner good.

He walked away silently, not wanting to get caught. As he lay in bed, Rafe wondered why he cared so much. His Danny was probably worried sick by now, and given time he'd do something really stupid; something like dropping out of the mission to look for him. Heck, his concentration would be on everything apart from flying the B-25s properly, which was enough to get a person killed. Why then was he contemplating not going back?

Thing was, Danny had survived just fine in his absence. He didn't get killed. He was happy. He had seen the way the rest of the squadron had unquestioningly obeyed his orders that day and noticed the camaraderie that had developed between Danny and Gooz. Danny would be fine. Daniel, on the other hand, was going to get himself killed if he went on like this. As conceited as it sounded, Daniel needed him; someone who wasn't afraid of him enough to knock some sense of right and wrong into his thick head.

That still didn't explain why he felt obligated to stay. It was not his job to help every lost soul out there _God knows he had met his fair share of them_ and until now, he was never compelled to. He knew it came from Daniel's uncanny and downright supernatural resemblance to Danny; it was almost as though they were the same person.

Rolling over, he felt miserably conflicted, and wondered for the first time in a long time why this had all happened. Why did he end up in that motel room? If he could go back to the night before all this, he would never sleep. And he wouldn't have been so dismissive of Danny, now that he knew that it might be the last time he saw him.

He was awakened rudely by Daniel banging on his door. Rafe was about to wear his uniform when he caught a whiff of it and decided that it would alert everyone to his approach from miles away.

"Hey, do you have any clothes I can borrow?"

Daniel poked his head in, looking very annoyed. "Keep going at that pace and you're going to make me late. What do you want to wear?"

"Just a shirt and pants."

He ended up dressed in one of those depressing plain white shirts and black slacks that pinched uncomfortable at the waist. Still, he was glad that he could get into it; there was no way he could fit in one of his friend's unbelievably small-waisted pants. This one clearly worked out a little more and had some form of a six-pack.

They walked downtown, stopping to only to buy coffee from a little stall. He noted unhappily that this seemed to serve as breakfast for the detective and if all of his food came in liquid form.

"Where are we going?"

"Louisa's place. She'll normally have updated herself about the current situation by this time, and I can't wait 'till we get to the station to hear everything. Besides, I'll have to decide what she's allowed to share with everyone else and what she isn't."

"So you'll walk to her place when it benefits you, but not to make sure she gets home safely?"

"Would you have walked Chuck home?"

"No." He knew where this was going.

"She can take better care of herself than him. So if you won't walk him home, why bother with her? Just 'cause she's a girl?"

"You know what, forget I said anything."

They walked down a typical street, where the houses were tall and narrow, and came to a stop in front of one with a pale blue door and flower pots on the window sill. They walked up the stoop and Daniel opened the door without even knocking. He kept quiet, figuring that she was probably used to this kind of treatment anyway.

He stepped in the same time as Daniel and immediately wished that he hadn't. The hallway was covered in blood; the whitewashed walls were smeared with red and even the ceiling sported swathes of blood. Daniel walked in further, following the trail of blood. It led them into the kitchen at the back of the small house.

There were no words with which Rafe could describe how he felt when he realised what happened in that kitchen. He was violently sick in the hallway, even as Daniel walked into the scene of the carnage. Louisa, stripped naked, had been strapped to the table and flayed. Skin floated in blood on the table. Her body had been cut like prime meat; he was sickened to recognise it as the butterfly cut that was so popular at barbecues, and it lay in a pool of blood that was still slowly dripping off the table. Her eyes were wide open, and the expression frozen on her face was one of sheer terror. He hoped that she died quickly, but knew in his heart that she probably did not.

Daniel's face was like stone; ashen but unmoved. He carefully stepped around the puddles of congealed blood on the floor to get closer to the body. Gently, he closed her eyes. Rafe wandered closer, ignoring the spasming of his stomach; as he did so, he noticed the stalk of white rose that was tucked by her body, its petals encrusted with blood. He was reaching out to put a hand on Daniel's shoulder when the detective spoke.

"He was here. Hasford did this himself."

XXXXX

Exams are over!!!!

well, i need some feedback on this chapter. is danny angsty enough for a person in his position? do tell, as the author's muse is holding her hostage and will do very nasty things to her mind if the goods don't roll in.

hope you liked it :)


	11. Insight

hi!

well, this is a short chapter, but the next one is a monster, i promise.

XXXXX

They sat on the kerb while the various policemen and coroner's staff bustled in and out of the little townhouse, cleaning up all evidence of the extinguishment of life under the hawk-like gazes of the neighbours. The morgue assistants came out carrying the body covered discreetly in a black bag, but everyone knew what was inside; one of the younger fellows was a spectacular shade of green and even the grizzled coroner was grim.

Actually, that was the best word to describe the mood that day; grim. The skies were overcast and the people beneath it wore the weary, sorrowful looks of veterans fighting a war they could not hope to win. Veterans of life. He never thought about it, but now Rafe realised that, at 26, he was much more world-weary than he ever remembered his father being, and he couldn't even pinpoint the moment he changed. It was as if he woke up one day an old man.

Grim was the perfect way to describe Daniel, because there wasn't much else to be detected from him. He sat quietly, unmoving and expressionless; the only thing that clued him in to the detective's state of mind was the occasional flare of his nostrils. Again, he missed the way he used to be able to read Danny like a book and know the right things to say to him. Here, he didn't even know what was going on.

"What do we do now?"

"_We_ don't do anything. You shut up while I think."

"Think? Shouldn't you be in there gathering evidence or something? Isn't that your job?"

"There's nothing to find. He cleans up after himself."

"Maybe not this time. Maybe he knows you've stopped looking for evidence and doesn't clean up anymore."

"Look, searching for evidence is like trying to cut the head off one of Medusa's snakes. It's pointless in the long run. You'd be better off doing away with the source."

"Who's Medusa?"

"Are you honestly that thick?"

And as sorry as he felt for Daniel, that riled him. He needed to get away from this thing for a while, get his bearings right again before plunging right back into the deep waters. "I'm going to get something to drink. See you in a bit."

"You're not going anywhere."

"What? Look, I'm just going around the block to get some coffee and I'll be right back. Besides, don't you need your space to think?"

"He knows who you are. You'll be next. If you want to die, go ahead, I don't care. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

That was…downright disturbing. He never thought of himself as being on anyone's hit list. "Come on, man…it's just the next street."

"Who's stopping you?"

Rafe sighed and sat down again. He obviously wasn't in any danger, but Daniel wanted him close by and that was the least he could do. Suddenly, they were approached by a man in a suit, whose very demeanour spoke of authority and even Daniel stood up quickly. "Sir."

"'It's really her?" His voice was slightly coarse, but surprisingly collected and soothing. He sounded like a man who knew what he was doing.

"Yes."

"And you found her?"

"Me and him." Daniel pointed at Rafe, who extended his hand to the man.

"Captain Burnbrooke. And you are?"

"Rafe MacCawley."

"She was dead when you got there?"

"Yes." Daniel answered, and he took it to mean that he was supposed to remain silent while the detective answered all the questions.

"Okay. Take the day off."

"What?"

"You heard me. You're off duty today." His voice took on a gentler tone. "Look, this is a big blow for anyone. I know you two were close. Go home and rest. You can come back tomorrow and I assure you that you'll be thinking a lot straighter."

They spent the last four hours parked on Daniel's couch, watching one pointless serial after the other. A large plate of tune sandwiches sat on the table; Rafe was glad for it, because he really didn't feel like having red meat anytime soon. It was even more boring than staking out Hasford's house, because this was a pointless exercise.

Daniel, of course, was about as much fun as a black hole; not only did he not facilitate the having of fun, he actually hindered it. Of course, he felt guilty whenever the thought entered his mind, considering how horrible the detective must be feeling over Louisa's death. Still, it was difficult to sympathise with a person who was as prickly and anti-social as him, especially when a little voice at the back of his head kept saying that she might have lived had he followed her home.

Just as he was about to sink into a state of vegetative-ness, there came a clunking sound from the kitchen; as if bottles had been knocked over. Rafe's first instinct was to run, but he turned and looked at Daniel-

- who hadn't so much as twitched. Daniel merely shot him a lazy gaze, as if to ask why he was being stared at.

"Did you hear that?" He whispered, not really knowing why.

"It's just baggy."

"Baggy? What's baggy?" Now he was seriously starting to doubt the man's lucidity. Maybe this killing was the straw that broke the camel's back, the tipping point in the battle for his sanity. "Are you alright?"

Daniel rolled his eyes. "It's Bagheera. Baggy. A cat."

Bagheera. That was a familiar enough name, since Danny went through a phase wishing that he was a jungle-boy like Mowgli; his favourite parts of the book were all about Bagheera and how he laid waste to the Bandar-log. He used to read it to Rafe, but somehow the idea of running away to the wild didn't really appeal to him, since it always reminded him of the fact that Danny had to go home to Cole. It says something about your parenting when your son wants to be adopted by a wolf pack and live in a jungle far, far away from all humanity. Apparently, the detective harboured similar sentiments.

"Are you sure?"

Another eye-roll. "No, not at all. That's why I'm just sitting with my thumbs up my ass while a possible intruder clatters around my kitchen."

He was about to say something when the cause of all the noise and sarcasm came into the room. Daniel was right, of course, and then some. The cat that walked _no, sauntered_ into the room like he owned the place was a fucking monster of cat. The distance between his ears could have spanned the length between Rafe's thumb and last finger and his tail, a good 15 inches long, was help up proudly in the air. Baggy was no house cat; his ears were nicked and scarred, and he only had one eye. One eye was enough; it was yellow and just evil enough to make him wonder if it would be a good idea to put his feet up on the couch.

The black beast strode past him and fluidly jumped onto the table to start eating a sandwich off the plate. Daniel swiftly rolled a newspaper and smacked him flat on the head. "Bad cat!"

He was rewarded with a vicious spitting and hissing, and Rafe wondered why no one had shot this animal yet. He should have expected something like this. There was no way a person like Daniel could have been happy with a normal, unfriendly cat; no, he had to have a cat that was the embodiment of evil and mean-spiritedness.

He threw the half-eaten sandwich onto the floor, and the black cat was quick to eat it. Before he could finish, Daniel had taken another sandwich off the plate and torn it into half, dropping one half onto the floor when the animal was finished. He held the other half and waited for Baggy to nose his fingers from the floor before giving it to him.

"Where'd you find him?"

"He broke in one night. I nearly shot him before I realised he was just a cat. He looked hungry, so I fed him and let him out. Two weeks later, I come back from work to find him waiting for me in the kitchen. I fed him again. He kinda comes here every now and again when he's too lazy to hunt for food. Sometimes he brings me a dead mouse."

"What?"

"It's his way of saying thank you, I guess. Cats like to play with their food before eating it, so maybe he thinks he's bringing me a gift or something."

Rafe smiled at the detective's obvious appreciation of the cat's "gifts". He really needed to make more human friends.

Just then, the cat jumped up onto the table again, having finished the second sandwich. He had just picked another one from the plate when Daniel leant forward and picked him up. The cat quickly swallowed its prize, and began to wriggle, hissing a warning. The detective wasn't fazed at all; he just settled the cat on his lap carefully and began to rub his ears.

To his absolute amazement, Baggy did not turn Daniel into ribbons. His claws didn't even come out. Instead, this vicious, one-eyed cur lay quietly in his lap, and even stretched to allow Daniel better access to the underside of his neck. Both man and cat sat in contented silence, and Rafe felt himself relax.

"Louisa used to hate Baggy." He spoke in a low, lazy tone, fingers never ceasing their movement.

"I can't imagine anyone who won't."

"He's not a bad cat. 'Sides, she never liked him because he leaves hairballs in her shoes."

"Did you like her?" He knew that this was a sensitive topic, but the detective was the one who initiated it and besides, it would do him good to talk about it instead of cooping it all up inside.

"Like her? In a we-got-along way or in a romantic sense?"

"Did you?"

"Everyone assumed we did, just because we worked well together, but no."

"Oh. Look, I know I'm prying and you don't have to answer if you don't-"

"Just ask the question already."

"Have you ever loved anyone?"

"You're right. That is prying," he sighed and pulled Baggy closer. The cat quietly put up with the manhandling, and Rafe wondered if he was more intelligent than he was given credit for. "I don't remember. Not in this city, at least. Everybody's bloody two-faced."

"What about back home?"

"Nope. But there was this one girl I met once. She was a Navy nurse or something...don't even remember her name now…wait…it was Eve or Ev or something like that."

"I see." Oh, he saw alright. A sinking feeling came upon him and he suddenly wished that he never brought the subject up.

"I don't know if I loved her in the sense of the word. It was just that…" he trailed off, looking puzzled.

"That?"

"Well, I don't really know what it was. And I don't know why the hell I'm telling you."

"Well, because I know you…sort of. Better than anyone, I guess. You get what I mean."

"That's just fucked up. And no, that's not why. One or the both of us is going to get killed soon enough. I got nothing to lose by tellin' you, I guess. Not like anyone's gonna believe you if you live to carry tales anyway, you freak."

"You were talking about the girl."

"Yeah, guess I was. Like I said, I'm not sure how to tell you what it felt like. I don't really know myself. We just had lunch together and then we…rocked the lunch table. I had to go someplace for a job after that, and she wrote me a letter or two. I never replied and that was the end of it. It's just…when I was with her, for the first time in a long time, I wasn't lonely. I dunno if that's love though."

It was all a bit too close to home for his liking. He watched Daniel, who was looking resolutely at Baggy and nothing else, with a heavy heart; this guy was lonelier than any person should ever be, and certainly more lonely than someone with a good heart like him deserved to be. And that was just this hardened detective guy; what about his more affectionate, temperate counterpart? Was that what Danny went through when he was gone?

XXXXX

He couldn't resist walking past his old house on the way back. It was like watching a horror movie than you knew would cost you your sleep; sometimes, people are attracted to the things that could hurt them, like a moth to a flame.

It was different. The dimensions of the house were the same, of course, but it looked so much more…homely than he could remember. The walls, once whitewashed and nothing else, were now a light blue. Curtains hung in once shattered windows. Flowers grew right in front of the veranda. The whole place exuded a welcoming air; he supposed that it was his mother's touch that made all the difference.

Something landed on his shoulder and Danny jumped. He quickly turned around and found himself face-to-face with his father. Well, this reality's version of his father, at least; he wasn't hunched over and greasy and drunk. The man stood tall and proud, with a friendly smile on his face and a twinkle in his eyes.

"Didn't mean to startle ya, buddy. Can I help you?"

"Uh…no, sorry to bother you. I was just passing through and…well, you've got a nice house."

Cole smile broadened. "It's no bother. And thank you. I don't think I've seen you around before, son. Where are you from?"

Danny's mind was reeling. He longed to tell Cole that he was his son, and wanted the man to be proud of him for once, but this was not his father. "Uh...Hawaii. Oahu."

"Well, you're a long way from home. You here on business?"

"Oh, no. I just dropped by the see the MacCawleys. We're distantly related."

"Well, I shan't be keeping you. You have a good day."

"You too, sir." He quickly walked away, well aware of the fact that this was probably the longest conversation he had had with his father where the man was lucid and sober.

Thankfully, the house was practically empty when he got there; Rafe opened the door for him. "Hey, Danny. Where did ya disappear to?"

"I just went for a walk. Explore the countryside and whatnot."

"Ahh…well, Evelyn and John went out, so we got the house all to ourselves. Want a beer?"

Oh, God, why was it so hard to leave? "I…I don't think so…"

"Awww, come on, man. Just one drink. Won't hurt ya."

"Okay."

They sat on the couch in front of the TV, feet propped up on the coffee table (which apparently was a no-go when Evelyn was around), and drank beer cold from the fridge. There was a news broadcast going on, something dark and depressing about the Allies being pushed back on all fronts and the high casualties suffered by the green American troops. It reminded him of the mission and made it clear to him how it important it was to get it done right.

"Do you have any combat experience?"

"A little."

"Where?"

"Pearl Harbor."

"Oh…" Rafe fell silent, like everyone else did when they spoke about being there on that day. It was as if they were afraid that talking about it would injure the pilots somehow; as if making them relive the worst day of their lives would be doing them injustice. "You must be one hell of a pilot, man."

That cut him. The only reason he survived that day was because of Rafe, because Rafe was there to walk him through the whole thing. He was alive because he let Rafe take the lead and did what he told him to; he didn't deserve any of the credit he got for whatever heroics it was that he supposedly performed. And they had given him the same medal as they had given Rafe, as if they were equals. And here was Rafe, in awe of his skills as a pilot. It was so wrong.

"I tried to join up once, a long time ago. Before the war."

"What happened?" He knew very well what happened, but pretences had to be kept up.

"Didn't make it through the tests, man. Flunked English and French. That was it."

"Oh." He realised that he didn't feel sorry for Rafe at all; sure, when they went through their first physical exam and Rafe just barely passed the eye test, he was so worried about how Rafe would take it if he made it through and Rafe didn't. Here, though, he could eke out any sympathy if he tried.

"Look, Rafe, take my word for it. Life in the army ain't all it's cracked up to be, not right now. You don't realise it until you've got someone else's blood on your hands and your friend is shot to bits right in front of your eyes, and once you go through that, there's no going back. You'll never be the same again. You're happy here, with Evelyn and John and your garage. Don't ever give that up."

Rafe nodded solemnly, and Danny could see sympathy in his eyes. He took a sip of his drink when Rafe's squeezed his shoulder; he took comfort in the touch, having missed it ever since Rafe left for England.

"I have to go soon. Today, tomorrow. Didn't mean to impose on you guys for so long."

Rafe still hadn't moved his hand. "I know you have to go, but you come back here anytime you want. I don't care if you stay a whole year or if you show up in the middle of the night, but you come back. I don't say this to every random person that walks through the front door; you're family, you hear?"

"Okay."

He was about to say something more when Evelyn and John came through the door. She smiled at them and said "Hello there. I was going to send Rafe out to look for you, you know."

"Nahh, I know this place to well by now to get lost. Anyway," he stood up "I better pack my bags. I've stayed too long as it is. Thank you so much for having me."

Her face fell. "Oh…could you stay just one more day? It's John's birthday tomorrow an-"

"I'm having a party!" The little boy cut his mother off, beaming with excitement. "With lots of cake and I get all the biggest piece!"

"And I was hoping that to have an extra pair of hands around the house. You know how little boys get."

"I'm really sorry, but-"

John cut him off this time, by running over around putting his arms around Danny's legs. He looked up at Danny with those wide hazel eyes. "Please come to my party, uncle Danny. Please?"

XXXXX

well, hope you liked it.


	12. The Darkest Hour

hi!

boy, you reviewers sure do know how to make a gal feel wanted :) never have i been asked to update soon by so many people. so here it is; the long-awaited update. methinks it is worth the long wait. do tell me what you think.

XXXXX

As he carried plastic chairs out into the green field right in front of the house, Danny cursed himself and his damned inability to say no. No. Just one simple syllable, and he still hadn't learnt to say it. And that was why he was stuck here, helping Evelyn set up the party with the help of the lovely Walkers. There wasn't a single corner of the house where he could escape the sound of his mother's voice and so he had taken refuge outside, setting up the table and chairs for the night.

It was so difficult to stop himself from running right inside and screaming the truth at her; that he was her son and that he was a pilot now and he missed her. Would she be proud of him? Would she love him? In this perfect little world, she might just and wouldn't that just be the end of things? After all the crap he had spouted all week about needing to leave and being in the army, imagine how two-faced he'd some across if he just chose to stay. He didn't even know what he wanted anymore.

"Hey!" Rafe's voice drew him from his inner rant. "I'm going over to the store to pick some stuff up? Wanna come along? I could use some help. Then we're stopping over at Barney's for a drink."

"Sure." He answered without looking away from his immediate task, and realised what an idiot he was when he did look up. Cole had started the truck and Rafe had one door open; they were clearly waiting for him.

Thankfully, John _the little monster that had gotten him into this mess in the first place_ came running up right at that moment, exclaiming "Wait for me! I wanna come too!"

"No, John, there isn't enough space in here for one more person. You stay with Mommy today, okay?"

"Actually, you can take him," Danny said. "I mean, unless you really need me to come along, I don't mind staying back here."

"Aww, come on man. John's gotta learn he can't have everything he wants."

"It's alright. I really don't mind."

"Alright. See ya, I guess." He picked the little boy up and put him in the truck. Danny could see Cole ask Rafe something, probably about him, and Rafe shrugged. Just as they turned the bend and he breathed a sigh of relief, someone else called his name.

"Danny!" It was Evelyn, and she was standing at the door, beckoning him in. "Come here for a moment, won't you?"

What was that someone once said about jumping out of the frying pan into the fire? Steeling himself, Danny walked into the house. "You wanted me?"

"Yeah, there's this can of chocolate on the uppermost shelf and I can't reach it. Didn't mean to bother you."

"It's not a problem."

But it was. He walked into the kitchen, and was faced with the sight of his mother pulling a freshly baked cake from the oven. She looked up and, with a smile so bright that it looked like she was actually happy to see him, said "Hi!"

"Hi."

"It's over there." Evelyn pointed at the shelf and spared him from having to say anything more. He pulled the can down with ease and handed it to her.

"Smells good. John's lucky to have such a good baker for his mom." Both women exchanged looks as soon as the words left his lips and he realised that Evelyn had probably told Elizabeth all about his lack of family.

"Are you sure the two of you aren't related somehow?" Evelyn asked, slowly opening the can. "I mean, you two share the same name and even look alike. You've got the same shade of hair."

"I'm remotely related to Rafe, Ev." It was amazing how he almost believed that now.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. It's just that you look like her long lost son or something."

"I never had a son." Elizabeth laughed. "Pity we didn't meet earlier, huh?"

"Yeah." Danny's voice was dangerously close to cracking. He slowly sat down at the table, and tried to project an image of neutrality.

"Want some?" Evelyn had made some sort of chocolate drink and waved a glass under his nose. Its warm scent wafted through the air, tempting him _just accept it, you know you want to_. He shook his head, wondering what higher power was trying so hard to prevent him from leaving.

"Where are you posted? I mean, where are you going after this?"

"If I tell you, I'll have to kill you."He was only half-joking.

"That is so…clichéd. Is it a secret mission or something? Do they actually have those things?"

"Yeah. The kind where you win medals, but they give them to your family." He quoted Rafe, realising for the first time the bitter truth of those words. What if he left and never made it back to this little patch of paradise?

His words darkened the mood, and both women lost their smiles for a moment. "Well, at least we're doing this for the greater good. At least John and the kids won't have to go through this awfulness after we're done. If we win, we can put an end to all of this fighting and dying."

The naïveté of Evelyn's words tossed him into a darker mood still. "No, it'll never end. Don't you see? World War I was supposed to be the war to end all wars. It was just the beginning. Now there's this. So, yeah, maybe John's generation will see all of this and know the cost of war and realise that anything is better than fighting things out. But what about the next generation? The ones who haven't seen what war can do? Give it time, and people will eventually get around to thinking that war is a viable solution to their problems. And then this whole thing will begin again."

"You're cynical." That was his mother.

"No. I'm just a realist." He was depressing himself with all of this woe-is-me crap, so he had really no idea why he was standing up for it like this. "Or maybe I am. Whatever."

They worked in silence for a while, no one quite knowing what to say to brighten the mood again. Evelyn sipped her chocolate drink and began making sandwiches. Elizabeth started to smother the cake with chocolate icing. He just sat there uselessly, watching them work.

He had just about retreated into the recesses of his mind when something drew him out again. It was a familiar tune, one that he remembered hearing but could not place if he tried. It didn't take him long to figure out the source, though; his mother was humming as she worked, completely oblivious to the effect she was having on him.

"Uhhh…uhh…excuse me?" It took him such a long time to get the words out, since he didn't want to interrupt her and thus end the music.

"Yes?"

"What song was that?"

"Goodness…I honestly can't remember. I heard it such a long time ago and it just comes to me sometimes. I used to sing it to my daughter when she was young. Why?"

She had a daughter. He could have had a sister. A whole, happy all-American family. "Oh, nothing. It…it's just that my mum used to sing to me before and well, it sounds like the same song."

"I see." They exchanged knowing glances once more, and he wondered exactly what they were thinking.

"Do you know the words to the song?"

"Of course. Do you want me to sing it to you?"

"Uhh…nahh…I mean, it's kinda private right? Something between your kid and you."

She looked him in the eyes. He held her piercing gaze for a moment, and averted his gaze; it felt like she was seeing deep into his deceptive soul. Before he could anticipate what she was about to do, she had reached over and ran her hand through his hair. He closed his eyes, savouring the feeling of his mother's caress. "Danny, do you want me to sing it to you?"

"Yes."

"_Hushabye child, don't you cry, I'll sing a sweet lullaby. Hushabye, don't you weep, pray for your soul to keep_."

It was exactly like he remembered; the sweet voice that used to lull him to sleep every night. He always imagined that his mother sounded like an angel, but as time went by, he passed it off as wishful thinking and overly fond memories; he knew now that no heavenly host could sound better.

" _Hushabye, don't you fret, things may be better yet. Hush, sweet child, goodnight_."

This was his song. His mom was here, now and she was being just that; his mother. Rafe was everything to him, and he had grown to see the MacCawleys as the best surrogate parents that a boy could wish for, but nothing could ever replace his mom. Nothing could match or replace the warmth or unconditional nature of maternal love and he basked in it now, committing the song to memory and etching this glorious feeling deep into his heart.

"_Hush, sweet child, goodnight."_

XXXXX

The next dawn brought with it not relief or new hope, but a grim determination to see things through to the end. Rafe supposed that it was the cumulative effect of the gruesome murder of that sweet girl, having his own head on the chopping block and the realisation that if he were to have any chance of saving Daniel from himself, Hasford would first have to be locked up.

As he wore his second pair of borrowed clothes, he unhappily realised that he was adopting the same kind of outlook of the situation as Daniel himself; the all-out, do-or-die outlook that led to the blunting of one's moral acumen.

Daniel, in contrast, was practically a ray of sunshine. He had breakfast ready – yesterday's tuna sandwiches warmed up – and didn't lace his coffee with liquor. He even dressed up a little, choosing to wear a light blue shirt instead of his usual white. The thought of that qualifying as dressing up made him smile a little, since Danny had developed an unbelievable fondness for those silly, multi-coloured Hawaiian shirts, which only came in the shades of too-bright red, too-bright green and too-bright blue.

"Workaholic, much?"

"Huh?"

"I've never seen anyone happier at the thought of going to work."

"And you aren't after yesterday? A complete waste of what could possibly be one of your last days?"

"Point taken."

They went down to the police base in town; if he thought the one in LA was huge, this was gargantuan. There had to be close to a thousand people running around doing work of some sort, all of them sporting the same dead-eyed look that Daniel did. Was there really that much crime going on, especially since a good proportion of the population was off in foreign countries? They walked through the hallway, flanked on either side by offices and down into the basement.

Daniel came to a stop in front of a door, and turned to him. "You can wait out here if you like."

"Is it an authorisation thing?"

"Nope. It's an autopsy. People get queasy, and the doc doesn't like people throwing up on his floor."

"I can handle it."

There was no comeback. Daniel merely opened the door and walked in.

There was no blood this time around; Louisa's body was paper white, and so sterile that it was difficult to imagine that it contained such a vivacious, lively soul just two days ago. He felt sick, not queasy. The coroner was a pudgy, hunched man, but his hands, Rafe noticed, were small and steady.

"Ah, Daniel. Thought this might be one of yours."

"Hmmm…oh, this is Mr. MacCawley. He'll be joining us today."

"I take it your little friend is still on the loose. This is the eighth one I've done for you."

"Just get on with it. What's missing?"

"Missing?"

"I told you that he uses real parts in his work, didn't I? Where do you think he gets them from?" It was amazing how little it took for Daniel to lose his patience.

"Cause of death is exsanguination, resulting from the severance of the carotid and jugular arteries. There are a number of peri-mortem wounds-"

"Look, doc, I asked what was missing."

"Nothing. Everything's there."

This caused some amount of confusion for the detective, from the way his brow immediately furrowed. "You sure?"

"Don't get precious with me, boy. I've been doing this longer than you've lived. When I say that everything's there, it means that everything is there."

He didn't even bother thanking the coroner before walking out. Rafe smiled weakly at him and rushed to catch up with the detective, who was walking away at a furious pace. The people walking along the route he took parted for him like the Red Sea for Moses; except that Daniel wasn't so much Moses as he was Nebuchadnezzar.

"Why are you so worked up about that? Maybe he didn't want to take something this time around?"

"He always does, alright. Something's not right. He's trying to tell me something."

"What?"

"I don't know." He looked agitated.

"Maybe he just wanted to kill her to show you that he could. Or maybe because he didn't want you to bring her to that art exhibition thing?"

"Maybe. I don't know yet…he doesn't think like most people do. He knows I will notice this and he did it to get my attention, but why? That's what I can't get yet."

A young girl, obviously an intern of sorts, bumped into him while carrying a towering stack of files. The collision caused files and papers to go flying, confetti of sorts. His first instinct was to help the poor girl sort the mess out, but Daniel hissed at her and she promptly moved out his way. Rafe picked a few sheets of paper off the floor and handed it to her uselessly before running after the detective, who by now had exited the building.

He was glad to leave the oppressive confines of the base, but had little time to appreciate the fresher air outside. Daniel could really hurry if he wanted to, and his long legs were carrying him across the road faster than it was comfortable to follow. He raced across traffic recklessly and dodged between streets, completely oblivious to Rafe's trouble keeping up.

He finally slowed down and ducked into one of the establishments; it was, without a doubt, bar. He walked in to find the detective already seated at the counter, calling for the bartender. He settled into the seat next to him, wondering how long they would be stuck here. Daniel downed a shot quicker than he could blink and called for another.

"Are you taking today off too?"

"Whaddaya think?" He downed another shot and took the bottle from the bartender.

"I'm pretty sure you aren't allowed to drink on the job."

"I'll do whatever the fuck I like." He drank straight from the bottle this time, grimacing at the punch of alcohol to his system.

"You do know that drinking is not going to solve anything, right? Five minutes of this and you won't even be thinking straight."

"I know what I'm doing."

"No, you don't!" Rafe didn't really know why he was getting so angry, but he wanted to strangle the detective. With his intelligence and resourcefulness, he would have caught Hasford by now if he wasn't so busy drinking himself into oblivion and wallowing in this self-imposed exile. "You have no idea what you're doing."

"And you do? Don't yell at me."

"I'll bloody yell if I want to! The truth is that you're just a scared little boy trying to wear his Daddy's pants and show the world how you're the biggest, baddest wolf of all. You know what; it ain't working! Everyone, and I mean everyone, can see right through you. Why the fuck do you think Louisa put up with all your crap, or the captain just lets you do whatever you like? Because you're that damn good? Wake up, kid, it's cause they feel sorry for you. And this drinking, you think it makes you look like one of those grim, strong men who can take anything? It's just another addiction, another weakness. If you only knew what you could be-"

"So that's what this is about. Darling Danny, who's all good and happy and sweet; he doesn't kill people. He doesn't have moral dilemmas. He helps people because he thinks it's the right thing to do. Oh, and Saint Danny doesn't even drink on the job." He took a long swig of whiskey. "Well, sucks to you, but not all of us want to be happy little fairies like your friend."

"And there it is again. You just can't admit that you're just as scared as the rest of us, that this drinking is the only way you can deal with it. You know what, I'm beginning to think you don't want to get this guy, because then you wouldn't be this dark, troubled hero you seem to think you are, you'd just be a miserable, lonely, pathetic kid."

Daniel's eyes darkened, and Rafe realised that he had crossed a line. "Fuck you," he snarled, knuckles white around the bottle he was clutching.

He walked away. It wasn't going to make Daniel realise the sheer stupidity he was inflicting on himself or even bring them closer to solving the case, but it would prevent a full-on fistfight from breaking out. He had a feeling that he wouldn't be walking away from this one quite like he did from the other, seeing how effectively he had pushed the detective's buttons.

Truth was, he didn't enjoy doing that. He didn't even have this sense of satisfaction from knowing that he was right. He just wanted Daniel to break out of this self-destructive rut and have some chance of surviving without him around. He walked over to Central Park and sat on one of the benches to watch the people around him. A bunch of children were playing in one the park's many little ponds and two elderly women were feeding pigeons. The sun peeked over the treetops and the sounds of laughter filled the air. If only Daniel could see that the world was a beautiful place, despite all the darkness that threatened to destroy it; if only he could see what a good person he was before it was too late.

XXXXX

He never thought that a bunch of pre-schoolers could be such a handful, but now he remembered his old teacher, who always looked flustered and tired, and understood why. 12 children had been dropped off at the MacCawley residence close to 3 hours ago, and in that short space of time, there had been 4 fights that needed breaking up, one girl who decided that the punch bowl would make a good swimming pool, a worm-eating contest, tears over a burst balloon, attempts to climb the scarecrow and incessant shrieking.

His mother and father handled the affair with knowing smiles, whilst Evelyn and Rafe ran around tirelessly trying to prevent the little monsters from killing themselves and each other. He helped out where he could, and funny as it sounded, had a great time. The air was crisp and the atmosphere full of youth and vitality; at one point, he found himself standing side by side with Rafe, trying to judge a bubblegum-blowing contest without laughing at the contestants.

When darkness descended outside, and it became impossible to see if any children had wandered off to the edges of the property, Evelyn had herded the whole lot of them into the house and parked them in front of the TV with ice-cream. The effect of the TV was instantaneous and final; the Amazonian hooligans all turned into stone statues, completely spellbound by the black and white magic. They took the opportunity to retreat into the kitchen for a well-deserved dinner break.

Dinner consisted of leftover sandwiches and cake washed down with sherry, but damn if it wasn't the best meal he could remember. They stood around the kitchen table, eating with their fingers and dropping crumbs everywhere, laughing and telling jokes without a care in the world. More often than not they would talk over each other, only half-coherent, every funny story evoking the memory of another.

"- Gawd, then there was the time Rafe jumped off the roof with cardboard wings!" Cole slapped the younger man's shoulder. "One minute I was repairing the water pump and the next I'm running towards the house wondering how I'm gonna tell Jake that his son killed himself."

"I didn't jump, Suzy pushed me! I swear, your daughter tried to kill me. And that wasn't the only time, too."

"Yeah, yeah, blame someone who isn't here to defend herself. Real chivalrous, Rafe." Evelyn had some fun at his expense, winking as she did so.

"Yeah, like that time he blamed Allie for painting spots all over old man Goff's prize racehorse and everyone actually thought she did it, only to find your shirt spotted with paint hidden under the cupboard months later. We couldn't believe you let her take the fall for-" he stopped suddenly, realising that he had said too much. Even if such a thing did happen in this reality, how could he, a stranger to the MacCawleys up to now, have heard of it?

The rest of them just laughed, not even noticing his unfinished sentence. His mother dissolved into tears, half-laughing and half-gasping for breath. Danny was amazed and as he thought about it, a warmth he hadn't felt before spread through him. He was really part of the family. They didn't seem to remember that they'd only met him this week and felt as though he had been there all along. And now Danny realised he felt like he had been there all along too.

XXXXX

He walked back to the bar when the afternoon sun made it too hot to sit in the park any longer, hoping that Daniel would have mulled over his words but realising that he would probably have to drag the very drunk detective back home. And the direction his luck was taking recently, he'd probably have forgotten the combination to the penthouse.

Slipping into the welcome darkness of the now-crowded bar, Rafe was unhappy to note that the detective was nowhere in sight. He contemplated searching the back or the bathroom, but came upon a better idea.

The bartender was quick to take notice of him. "Hey, there was this guy in earlier, drank a lot, dark hair, mopey…you seen him?"

"You just described pretty much all everyone in here," the bartender looked faintly irritated. "Is he the tall detective guy?"

"Yeah."

"He left a while ago. And no, I don't know where he went."

As he frantically searched the area for Daniel, Rafe admonished himself. The man was already unstable, and he probably just triggered some sort of hissy fit that was going to make communicating with him that much harder. Resigned, he decided to head back to the penthouse, or failing that, the base, to wait for the detective.

He went up to the penthouse, but the door was obviously locked. Feeling a little silly, like a man locked out by his wife for whatever reason, he called Daniel; hoping that the detective was not the kind to ignore unwanted visitors. There was no response, and he was about to try calling again when something moved in the corner of his vision.

Looking down, he saw a familiar shape; a huge black cat who was now sitting on the floor and looking at him. Baggy mewed, which of course sounded more like a chainsaw than any cat-like noise, and pawed the door, as if to ask him where Daniel was. Rafe bent down to pick him up and was rewarded with a badly-scratched hand.

More perplexing, however, was the fact that Daniel was missing. At least, that was how he felt; there was nothing to say that he wasn't off drinking at another bar or getting laid or looking for witnesses. It was foolish to say that he was "missing" just because Rafe didn't know where he was. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that Daniel was getting into trouble somewhere. And, as he admitted that to himself, Rafe realised where he was and prayed to God that he was wrong.

It was in the upmarket district, the gallery. Nestled somewhere in between some silly corporate building and an opera house, it exuded the air that always lingered around places like this; if you don't think that drinking wine and pretending to enjoy fanciful artwork is worth the time, then you're too much of a commoner to understand. He quickened his pace, unhappy to note that while the place appeared to be constructed entirely of glass, he couldn't see anything inside. Just like the LA house then.

Rafe hurried up the steps, noting that the place was pretty much deserted. The opening date for the exhibition was a few days off, so he supposed that the murderer-artist wanted some solitude to work on whatever monstrosity he was planning to present. The lobby was small, but branched off in two directions marked by signs; one route led to the gallery itself and the other led to the artist's work area.

The choice was obvious. He walked down the darkened hallway and was rewarded when he heard voices. Rafe rounded the corner and came face to face with another room blocked with glass doors. The room was well-lit and he could see two people standing in the corner by a large table, glasses in hand; Daniel and Hasford. They were talking rather amicably, as though they were just two people aboard a bus sharing opinions about the weather. Daniel had removed his trench coat and placed it on the table. Hasford himself was dressed in a well-tailored suit that looked expensive.

He pushed the doors, but they did not budge. Locked out, then. He rapped on the glass but there was no reaction from the people inside, despite the fact that he could hear them speaking. They didn't seem to be able to hear him through the thick glass, so how was it that he could hear them?

Looking around, he noticed an air vent close to the ceiling; their voices must have been carried through that. He stood under it, paying attention to their conversation for the first time.

"Well, one does what one can. I must admit that congratulations are in order. I hear you've been commended for busting that gun-running trade down in Tennessee." Hasford's voice was smooth and slick; he spoke easily, like a gentleman used to verbal repartee.

"Commendation here, commendation there. Doesn't mean much, really. Like winning the Times' best writer of the year when you're after the Pulitzer." Daniel's words were slightly slurred, and it was obvious that he was drunk. Still, he clutched a half-empty glass of wine in his hand.

"It still means something. Anyhow, shall I take this personal visit as an RSVP to my opening this week?"

"You know, I just can't figure that last one out." He reached out and picked a tube of paint of Hasford's table. It was obviously a new one, still wrapped in its packaging. It was some shade of green. "Why buy these colours if you're not going to use them?"

"For the same reason women buy more shoes than they can possibly hope to wear. It's the pleasure of shopping."

"Seems a little off-character for you."

"I must admit that I do not often indulge in frivolity of the manner. However, there is a certain pleasure to be gained in doing something not in the furtherance of some purpose, but merely because one can."

The conversation itself was giving him the creeps. Daniel seemed to be in control of himself, but why was Hasford putting up with his drunken ramblings? He had no idea how long this conversation had gone on, but it should never have begun in the first place. Rafe wanted badly to put an end to it, but he was aware that he couldn't just hammer on the door and demand Daniel to leave. Not only was the detective disinclined to listen to him at the moment, who knew what sort of reaction it would trigger from the mass-murderer in the room?

Daniel still held the tube of paint in his hand. "This is a weird choice, even for you. Green is a colour you find repulsive, no?"

"Ahh…but colour can be changed. Introduce a new element, like red, and it comes to life in ways unexpected." Daniel's lips thinned and the colour drained from his face. Rafe rushed the door again, sensing a confrontation. "A good artist can turn even the most repulsive green into a burning red beauty."

"You sick son of bitch!" Daniel drew his gun and stepped forward. Rafe threw himself against the glass doors. Hasford leapt backwards from his chair.

He hadn't taken two steps forward before his legs gave way. With a yelp of surprise, Daniel fell to his knees and dropped his gun. It went skittering to the side as Rafe thumped the unrelenting glass doors again. Hasford regarded him coldly before turning his attention back to the detective.

"You…you poisoned me," said Daniel, looking at the spilled wine.

"Awww…didn't your mother ever teach you not to take candy from strangers? It was very careless of you, Daniel. I'm surprised."

"HEY!" Rafe kicked the door where the latch was, hoping that that was its weak point. The door barely moved. "Leave him alone!"

"You know, I thought you weren't coming. I mean, you're terribly late…it's been what, two days?" Hasford looked up at Rafe, who smacked the glass impotently. "But I guess your friend here had something to do with it. Look at him go at the door…almost seems like he actually cares whether you live or not."

Daniel remained quiet, almost swaying on the spot. "But you drank it too. I waited 'till you took your first drink…why aren't you poisoned?"

"First of all, I didn't poison you. It's just a sedative. And secondly, you really need to stop drinking so much; it's clouding your judgment. I didn't put anything I the drink, it was in the glass. You were so busy watching me that you failed to notice the fine dust in your glass."

The detective looked again at the wine glass with half-lidded eyes.

"Hey, Hasford, you've had your fun. You're better than he is. Don't you think it's time to let him go?" Rafe tried his luck, knowing full well that unless he found a way in, Daniel was a goner.

That drew a smile from the artist. "Had my fun? Daniel, I don't think your friend knows me very well. But you know, don't you? You know how much fun it is to jump a girl in her own home, strip her naked…you can almost taste her fear of violation as you tie her down to her own table; the table she bought and ate at, the table she where she shared Christmas pudding with her family. Beautiful, really."

Rafe didn't want to hear any more, but that wasn't in his control. Just like everything else. He kicked the door repeatedly and his efforts paid off because he could see the lock give way just a little bit. All he had to do now was to break in before any bloodshed took place.

"Stop."

"But you haven't heard the best part! Now," he rubbed his chin thoughtfully "would that be the part where I cut her open when she was still alive? Or where I painted the house with her blood while she watched?"

Daniel squeezed his eyes shut.

"Still, pleasing as those were, I think I've found the candidate for first place. It's the part where she screamed your name before she died. She called for you with her last breath, believing that you would come to save her. That was precious."

"Monologuing? Bit clichéd, don't you think? You have me…what's your next move?" There was a lazy smile on Daniel's face, like he knew what was coming.

"Such impatience, boy. That's one of your faults, you know…art can't be appreciated with a quick glance and hasty judgment. It needs to be savoured slowly for one to fully understand the extent of the artist's vision."

"And I am your greatest work."

"Yes."

"I am here today because of you. Everything I've done in the past year was because of you."

"Nothing gives me more pride."

"We both know how this is going to end."

Hasford moved closer still and Rafe could see the polished glint of the scalpel he held in one hand. The door's lock was loosened in its place, but showed little sign of giving way. A crack or two had appeared around it, but the glass itself was thick and obviously very strong. He pushed harder, knowing that the price of failing was too high to bear.

"Your greatest work. It's not an unexpected ending, I suppose. The only question here is what you'll take from me."

There was silence from Hasford, and Daniel continued talking in that half-drugged drawl of his. "My eyes? It's a statement, I guess, because of my job…detective's eyes." He giggled at that. "My heart? That's where the darkness is, that darkness you and I both have." He looked up at Hasford. "Did I guess right?"

Hasford looked down at the detective almost gently, the way a lion looks at the gazelle fawn it is about to eat. He raised his hand and Rafe's heart almost stopped beating. However, Hasford made no move to injure the detective; quite the contrary. He ran a hand through his thick hair and gently cupped his face. "Daniel, Daniel," he cooed "why would I want to make you into something? My work here is done…I need a clean canvass to work with. You're tainted, damaged goods. There's nothing more I can do with you."

He breathed a sigh of relief even as he continued his assault on the door, but the look of crushed defeat on the detective's face broke his heart. How broken do you have to be to view a murderer's unwillingness to kill you as rejection?

"Actually, you were beginning to tire me." Hasford stepped closer, and Rafe noted in frustration that his grip on the scalpel had tightened. "I could guess very well whatever your next move was going to be. It got boring. Predictable."

Suddenly, Daniel lunged at Hasford, just as he raised the blade to deliver the fatal blow. The two men went crashing on the floor and the scalpel landed some distance away. Hasford was quick for his age and stature; barely a moment passed before he made for the scalpel. His fingers closed around when Daniel's foot landed on top of his hand. Now Hasford looked up at him, almost as if he was pleading for mercy.

"Predictable? You were so convinced that I would drink that you failed to notice me tipping the glass towards the floor every now and again." Daniel glared at Hasford. "You're the one that's predictable."

Rafe was shocked, but so relieved and grateful that his knees felt weak. Daniel ground his foot into the man's hand. "Let go."

"Alright." He let go of the scalpel; Daniel released his battered hand and kicked the scalpel away in one move. He no longer looked drugged or submissive, towering over the fallen artist with his head held high and authority well-asserted. This was the same person that Rafe had encountered in the alley and later in the warehouse, and, despite his earlier words, it was easy to see why he had the awe and respect of his colleagues.

Just as he let his guard down, Hasford lunged in the opposite direction, grabbed the gun and fired. Daniel ducked instantly. Rafe pressed himself against the door, trying to see whether he had been shot when a bullet embedded itself in the glass between his eyes. The glass splintered and tiny cracks spread around the bullet like a spiderweb, but did not break.

Hasford fired again, adjusting his aim. Rafe closed his eyes instinctively, but heard the 'ping' sound of it hitting the glass again, this time closer to the ground. He opened his eyes to see Daniel tackle Hasford. The two of them wrestled for the gun, and Daniel finally managed to force the gun upward; he pulled the trigger repeatedly, even though Hasford still had a good grip on it. The ceiling above them crumbled, dusting both men with plaster and paint.

Then, just as suddenly as he went for the gun, Hasford let it go. The momentum of his assault caused Daniel to stagger backwards, and the artist took this opportunity to catch him in the jaw with a well-aimed punch. The detective crumpled to the floor, stunned but not incapacitated. Hasford the bolted towards the opposite end of the room, towards a small door that Rafe had not noticed until now. Where it led, Rafe knew not, but Hasford opened it and disappeared. As much as it was disappointing to see the man escape, he was more than thankful that Daniel was relatively unscathed.

"Hey, let me in!" he called as the detective picked himself off the floor. Finally, he could put an end to this madness.

Daniel merely regarded him with cold eyes. It was surprising, but not unexpected. He probably wasn't the detective's favourite person right now. "Look, I shouldn't have said the things I did, and I'm sorry, alright? Just let me in."

Daniel stood still for a fraction of a second longer, and then turned his back on Rafe and disappeared behind the little door, armed only with the tiny scalpel.

Rafe violently kicked the door again, frustrated and angry. He was so close. "Hey! HEY! Come back!" His voice echoed in the lonely corridor. "COME BACK!"

XXXXX

"I'm telling you, she was crazy…"

"Oh, come on, that's nothing. I'll show you crazy." Evelyn put her glass down on the table. "I was out at the drugstore the other day, and there was this kid in there, about ten years old. One moment he was looking at the ice-cream like any normal kid. I got what I wanted, paid and was walking out when he just grabbed my leg and started saying stuff like 'Mommy, mommy, why are you leaving me?' and 'Don't you love me anymore?'. Everyone was looking at me like I was this awful person. I managed to disentangle myself from him and ran out. Then I realised that I didn't have my purse. When I went back, the kid was gone."

"That's not crazy, that's genius. How much did you lose?"

"Not much."

"Well, you ain't seen crazy 'till you meet a fortune-teller, I can tell you that." That was his mother. He never imagined that she would have a slight Southern twang to her accent, but it was there and it sounded right.

"Oh, this is a good one." Cole leant back against the cabinet, relaxed and completely sober despite the two glasses he had had. He reminded Danny of the person he used to see on rare occasions; his dad's rare moments of sobriety were sometimes more painful than his usual state because he was everything that a kid would want in a father. Somehow, seeing how this reality's version of him was good-natured, cheerful and gentlemanly, he doubted that his sister ever saw the end of the man's belt.

"This happened so many years ago, before any of you lot were born. We just got married." She looked at Cole with a warm smile and he stood a little straighter. "We had dinner in some uptown restaurant, you know; candlelight dinner, roses and everything romantic. We couldn't wait to get home-"

"Oh, God," Rafe groaned, placing a hand over his eyes. "You guys are like my folks. You know how weird this is?"

"How do you think you got here, son? A stork delivered you from Heaven?"

"Yes. Storks. At least I can sleep at night without thinking of-" Danny shuddered. This was a very uncomfortable topic indeed. Everyone laughed and for a moment they were noisier than the children were earlier. As they laughed, he watched them; his family. His mother, alive and wittier than he ever imagined. His father, proud and friendly. Evelyn, content and untroubled. Rafe, just plain happy. If Heaven was real, this was what it would feel like.

"Anyway, I was saying that we were leaving the restaurant before the whole topic went off-tangent. He went to get the car and I waited out front. It's late at night and there's practically no one outside and this bent little lady comes from around the corner. I mean, she was wearing this load of rags and had mismatched eyes. I thought she was lost or something when she stopped and just looked at me for the longest time."

"Yeah, that's gotta be creepy." Evelyn apparently didn't like being stared at.

"I was going to ask her whether she needed help when she just grabbed my arm and said that I have a cloud of evil hanging over me. Just like that. Said I was cursed and that I would be dead four years to the day."

"Oh, my God. Why didn't you walk away?"

She shrugged. "Where to? Besides, she had such a grip on my arm. She went on and on how love was my bane and horribly arcane stuff like that. I mean, what was I supposed to do; stop loving? Then she said that it was the equinox moon that day and if any child was conceived under that moon, it would be evil."

"Wow, a satanist nutter. I don't envy ya," Rafe said.

"That's not the crazy part. Cole finally came with the car and when I told him what happened on the way home, he refused to-"

"We get the picture, thanks."

"Why take chances? Did it really hurt to wait for awhile?" Cole evidently thought he was being reasonable.

"I sometimes think about what might have happened, ya know? I've always felt like I lost a child because of that. If we had really had, you know, then, would I have had another child? A son? He'd be a February baby, if you count back from the date of that day. He'd be 23 this year."

Danny's heaven burned away, consumed by the flames of realisation.

XXXXX

When the glass finally shattered, it did so with sound and fury. Hundreds of pounds of bullet-proof glass, weakened by the bullets embedded in them, fell to the ground like a rain of diamonds. Not that Rafe cared; it had been almost half an hour since the two of them disappeared behind the door and there hadn't been a sign of life since then. Crushing the glass underfoot, he ran across the artist's workspace, hoping against hope that he would not be horrified by what lay beyond the door. Spotting the gun on the floor, he picked it up; maybe it was still loaded and even if it wasn't, it could still be a weapon. Steeling himself, he pushed the door open to reveal-

-pitch darkness. He let the door swing open as wide as it would go, allowing the light from outside to illuminate the recesses of the room. He could see tall shelves stacked with boxes of odds and ends, so he guessed it was a store room of sorts. Rafe didn't know whether to call out or to explore the place silently. The former would alert Hasford to his presence, but it would also let Daniel know that he had backup.

Then, a glimmer of movement caught his eye. Something had moved on his left. Heart pounding, he approached; wary of the fact that it was further back and the light from outside only penetrated so far. As he walked closer, a rancid stench hit him. It was oily smell of fresh blood and death.

"Daniel?"

There was no response, but he could hear something moving again. He stepped forward although every fibre of his being was screaming at him to turn, run and never look back. His foot connected with something in the darkness. He nearly stopped breathing for a moment before realising that it was not soft, squishy or wet but hard. It was probably junk of some sort. Still, he couldn't resist bending down to touch it and make sure, just in case.

It was cylindrical in shape and, in the dim light, Rafe saw that it was a torchlight. Thanking providence for the small relief, he flicked it on. The bright orange beam cut through the darkness like a knife and let him see in glorious clarity what had remained fuzzy shapes and shadows merely moments before.

And Daniel. Rafe gasped and very nearly dropped his torch at the sight of the detective; his heart stopped for a moment before the dark-haired man raised his head to look him in the eye. Daniel was shirtless and his bare torso was smeared with thick, dark streaks of blood. His hair was wet and the bangs that hung so beautifully in his face now clung to his forehead, all tainted with blood. It was everywhere; on his face, the knees of his pants and almost black against the pale skin of his hands. Apart from lifting his head to look at Rafe, he sat still on the floor, leaning haplessly against the wall.

"Are you hurt?" Rafe crouched by his side, hesitantly reaching out to examine the extent of his injuries. It could not be slight, not with the amount of blood that had been split.

He shook his head slightly and extended a hand, palm open. Rafe had no idea what he was asking for until he remembered the gun he had picked up and how Daniel always kept it with him. He placed it in the detective's open palm slowly, still unsure of his condition. And where was Hasford?

"What happened? Where is Hasford?" he kept his voice low, partly because he didn't know where the maniac artist was, but also because Daniel looked so fragile that a loud word might have broken him.

"There." He looked over to the right side, into a spot completely obscured by darkness. This time he was less hesitant to shine the torch into the dark patch, knowing as he did that Daniel was relatively alright. What Rafe saw made him shuffle backwards and gag in horror, wishing impossibly to wipe his mind of the sight.

It was Hasford. His eyes stared sightlessly at Rafe from a face frozen in a grimace of terror. His body lay in a pool of congealing blood, reminiscent of his latest kill. The resemblance did not end there; the artist's torso had been carved brutally, so much so that the ivory structure of his ribcage was laid bare and the organs within in plain sight. The sides of his mouth had been cut, so he wore a ludicrous smile even in death.

Rafe turned back to Daniel, coming to the realisation as he looked at the unmoving detective that he was the one who committed the atrocious murder. Daniel looked at him impassively, hand curled possessively around the gun.

"Are you alright?"

Daniel allowed himself a hint of a smile, which looked so wrong because it only made obvious the coldness of his eyes. "Alright? Is anybody alright these days?"

Rafe moved closer to him, shining the light all up and down in huddled form. There was no apparent wound on him, but it was difficult to tell underneath all that blood. "Are you hurt?" he asked again, wanting to make sure that Daniel wasn't bleeding put while he sat here and gawped at dead bodies.

"No." A shiver shook his frame.

"Where's your shirt?" Rafe quickly shrugged out of his borrowed jacket and attempted to drape it around Daniel, but the latter shied away from him.

"Got wet. Too much blood." He pushed the jacket away and backed further against the wall, knees against his chest.

"Okay, okay. Whaddaya say we get outta here, huh?" Rafe spoke in a placating, low tone; the one that was reserved for nightmares, broken arms and broken hearts.

"Yeah." There was a definite nod from Daniel, but he kept his gaze downward. "Yeah, you should go now."

"We should go."

"There is no we," Daniel said softly, as though he was speaking to someone without the capability to comprehend what he was saying. "You should go."

"You're crazy if you think I'm leaving you here."

"You're not leaving me. There isn't a me anymore." His voice was harder now, and his fingers tightened around the gun. "Just go."

"What the hell are you talking about? You killed Hasford, you…you won. He's finished!"

Daniel exploded. "YOU JUST DON'T GET IT!" He was on his feet now, the gun aimed somewhere between Rafe and thin air. Rafe nearly backed away, but dimly realised that his proximity was what was causing this outburst; if it facilitated this venting and eventual preservation of Daniel's sanity, he would risk being shot.

"You just don't fucking get it, do you? He won!" Daniel paced in the cramped corner, bloody hands shaking.

"Then explain it to me, man. I want to understand. I really do."

He stopped pacing and stood still for a moment, and Rafe actually believed that he had gotten through to the fast unravelling detective. Then, he started shaking. "He won, because he's in me." He tapped the gun against his head. "He's in here."

Rafe felt a tremble run through his own body. "Danny, please-"

Daniel cut him off. "I can hear him. I can still hear him."

"Yes, because this is all still new." It was difficult to keep the exasperation from his voice. "His body's still warm, for Heaven's sake. But after you go report this and go home and get the rest you need, this will all go away."

"No, it won't. You know how I knew what he was going to do? Or what it meant when he killed Louisa? Or which gun-running business was his?"

Rafe didn't know. He didn't want to know, but Daniel wasn't actually asking him a question.

"Because I knew what he was thinking. Because I know how he thinks. I learnt to think like him, see the world the way he does. And now," his voice broke and along with it, Rafe's heart, "now I can't go back. I…I can't stop thinking like him. I don't know how else to think."

"Look, Danny, I know you're confused and hurting and angry but it's gonna get better. The worst is over. And you'll learn how to be yourself again; I can help you."

There was a sneer now on Daniel's face; in the half-light he looked far more frightening than Hasford ever did. "Help me? You know what I thought when I saw Louisa like that? That it was a fucking pity I didn't have a camera with me to document the absolute beauty of it. I hoped that she died scared, because it would have been imperfect otherwise."

Rafe swallowed thickly.

Daniel stepped closer. "You know what I see when I look at you? I see a paradox, a human angel. And I just want to taste you," Rafe shivered involuntarily as Daniel's dark eyes raked over him "to know what kindness and right taste like. I want to cut your heart out, because it sure as hell ain't gonna look like the rest of us. You still wanna help me, huh? I don't fucking see people anymore, I see victims and accomplices! There's no unlearning that sort of thing."

"Y-"

"No. No, these aren't things you can unlearn…you've killed before; can you ever go back to the person you were before that? Can you forget what it's like to take a life?"

"No, but that doesn't make you a bad person. You don't have to let it control you."

He laughed; a short, cynical bark devoid of any real emotion. "Oh, no…let's just forget that you killed someone. Let's forget how damn good it felt. Things like that only happen in fuckin' fairytales."

"No. I've seen it." Rafe couldn't keep the emotion from bleeding into his words. "I see it all the time with Danny. Yeah, he's killed a couple of Japs, but it hasn't changed who he is. If he can do it-"

"Danny can do it because no one fucking used him as punching bag when he was just twelve! He didn't lie in bed every night and stare at the ceiling for hours because he was too damn starved to sleep! He doesn't have his father's hatred of him carved permanently into his skin, or the memory of growing up knowing that if he were to drop dead, not one single person would remember him with any amount of affection!" Daniel seethed and took another step forward, gun half-aimed at Rafe.

"If he's remotely alright, it's because he's never had to learn the difference between right and wrong all by himself. It's not like he had nowhere to turn, no one to care whether he got out trouble the right or wrong way, or if he cheated or even if he-" Daniel stopped abruptly. "Everything I did, I did it on my own. I learnt a long time ago that the only person looking out for me was me, and I learnt to survive. And sometimes, surviving like that, you get to the point where you become no different from the things you used to be scared of."

"That's where you're wrong. You're not like them. Would Hasford have considered locking himself away in a dark room because he had a compulsion to hurt someone else?" Rafe wished he could let Daniel see what he saw in him; someone who was too pure to be caught up in this mess, someone worth saving. "You're a good person."

Daniel looked at him and finally allowed him to look into the depths of those dark eyes that he knew so well. But, he realised painfully, there was nothing remotely familiar about them; there was nothing in Daniel's eyes but an emptiness that stole the very breath from him. Slowly, the detective, the boy whom he had practically raised but not quite, the person he would give his life for in the blink of an eye, shook his head. "I am a monster."

And he put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.


	13. Back at One

hi guys!

sorry it's taken so long, but i hope it's worth the wait!

shameless promotion: i wrote a fic for the faculty, an awesome 90's movie which stars josh hartnett. check it out and tell me what you think.

do leave a review :)

XXXXX

Rafe came to shocked and short of breath; his heart pounding a frantic rhythm inside his chest and a million thoughts _blood death Danny_ in his mind swirling together into nothingness, unable to comprehend the horror of-

- being back in the room where this all begin. In the bed where he had awoken confusedly not a week ago, although it felt like an eternity. He quickly looked down at his hands, and was disturbed to find them clean of blood _Danny's blood_ that had stained them. His clothes, his uniform, were spotless, free of the gruesome reminder of his failure to get through to the one person who mattered.

An inconsequential sound caught his attention and he quickly turned to his left, where the empty bed that was there the last time around should not be making any sound, inconsequential or not. However, it was not empty. The person in it stirred slightly, as though awaking from an ordinary, untroubled sleep, only to quickly sit up in obvious surprise. It was Daniel or Danny and it didn't matter who because he was not dead.

Quick as a flash, he turned around, wide eyes catching his far quicker than he himself had come to be aware of his surroundings. The person that looked at him had unruly hair that framed eyes free from despair and loneliness and anger; eyes that were flooded with relief and happiness and, he realised with a leap of his own heart, that he could read. This was his Danny.

Without thinking about it, he had shucked off the sheets and made his way over to his friend, arm outstretched to pull him into a hug, before it occurred to him just how girlish it was. He contented himself with ruffling his friend's already messy hair lightly; Danny, for his part, shook his head, good humour betrayed by the mile-wide grin on his face.

"Shove off," he said, batting Rafe's hand away.

"That's what she said."

Danny rolled his eyes, but grew more serious as he surveyed the room. "What the hell just happened?"

That grounded him too. "I don't know…I don't…this is-"

"Impossible, I know. You've been here before, right?"

"Yeah, once." It seemed like that was ages ago, but he had no idea how much time had elapsed between then and now, or if they were even in the same goddamn century.

"Dunno 'bout you, but I just wanna get the hell outta Dodge." Danny had pulled the door open before he could okay it; before he could make sense of the little voice in his head telling him that it was not safe to step outside. He made an unsuccessful lunge to pull his friend back inside and then was grateful that he missed, because there was no way in hell he could have explained what was troubling him coherently.

"You have any idea where you're going?" he asked as Danny raced down the stairs, headlong into whatever trouble was waiting.

"Find a way back to the base, I suppose." He turned around, looking somewhat worried. "Do you have any idea what day it is?"

He shrugged. "Not really. We could always ask someone. Why?"

"Well, what if it's been a whole month? Or a year? Doolittle will hang us."

That was a disturbing thought indeed. "You really think it's been a year?"

Danny thought for a while, head canted as it always was when he was thinking and said "No, but I'd like to know when we are all the same."

"There's a bar around the corner. They have a phone too."

Danny didn't ask him how he knew this, and he didn't volunteer the information. There was too much to deal with already and neither knew the extent of the other's experience to be ready to ask such revealing questions. They walked in silence to Harvelle's and requested to use the phone. It was the 18th of February, so they had not even been gone for a day. Rafe almost dialled the number when he remembered something. "Hey, uh, the last time I did this, I couldn't get the base. No clearance or whatever."

"Ask them to tell Doolittle who you are. I think they'll call you back pretty quickly."

"Okay."

It worked, of course. He picked the phone up under the baleful glare of the bartender. "Hello?"

"Where the hell are ya, boy?"

"Uh…Andover, Tenessee."

There was utter silence on the other end. Then, Doolittle spoke, his voice dangerously soft. "What do you think you are doing?"

"I can't explain it, sir. I think we mighta had too much to drink last night…uh, we're coming back pronto, sir. You're not going to court martial us, right?"

"Just get back here, MacCawley. And tell Walker I expected better of him."

"Will do, sir." He hung up and turned to Danny. "We're screwed, but I don't think they'll shoot us."

The train was practically empty, just like it was the last time he boarded it. Danny looked around curiously; this was evidently new to him. They settled into a booth and as the train slowly started moving down the tracks, Rafe felt a tangible sense of relief. They were headed back to the base, nothing weird had happened so far and, most importantly, Danny was here with him. Suddenly, he felt twitchy and excitable, like he'd drunk too much coffee. There was so much he wanted to tell Danny but where to start? What if the whole thing with Daniel was a creation of his alcohol-ridden mind and the truth was what he had told Doolittle? Would Danny even believe him?

His friend must have caught him staring because he raised an eyebrow at Rafe, which, knowing Danny, was all he was going to get. He leaned forward.

"Man, the weirdest thing just happened to me."

"You don't say."

"That's not the first time I woke up in that room. Not the first time I've been in that bar, or taken this train."

Danny didn't say anything, but he was listening very closely.

"I know how crazy this sounds, but just hear me out, okay? I swear, it was like I was in a world where I never existed." He paused, cringing at how he sounded even to himself like a raving loon. "Until I came there, at least."

"Yeah, I know. What happened?"

"You know? And you just let me sit here thinking I'm crazy?" Rafe shook his head in mock disappointment. "Anyway, I met you. Only, not you, just-"

"That reality's version of me." He fell silent for a moment and asked, almost hesitantly, "What was I like?'

"Good God, you were scary! I'd never have guessed it, but you are a closet basket case. No, no, uhh…more like an evil genius. Like the one from that book, about the doctor with the underground lab who goes around killing people."

"Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?" Danny looked extremely unhappy and he realised that he had perhaps gone overboard in his description of Daniel.

"Yeah, like that. Except that you weren't actually evil. You were a detective." Danny looked curious, and much less disturbed. Smiling, Rafe settled into his seat and told him everything. Well, not everything; he left out the entire confrontation with Hasford and the unhappy ending, the scars as well as Louisa's murder. It was such a relief to get everything off his chest and he spoke far longer than he imagined he would. When he finally came to the end of his story, Rafe realised just how exhausted he was, both physically and emotionally; he had no idea whether he actually lived the past week or not, but his body certainly felt its effect.

"Well, what about you? What did you see?"

"You, obviously." Danny ran a hand through his hair, a sign of weariness. "Nothin' half as crazy as you though. Nothin' changed; you were still on the mission, the guys were there, Ev in Pearl Harbor…just that none of you knew me. I convinced Doolittle to let me in, showed him some moves and in a day or two it was like nothing had changed."

"Yeah, well, you count your lucky stars, boy. How'd you like to see me blow someone's head open like an overripe tomato?" Rafe shook his head in disbelief, taking in the sight of Danny's innocence. "I can't believe that I'm all that's kept you from going darkside."

XXXXX

Danny rested his head against the cool glass of the train's window and watched the rain outside. Rafe had stretched out in his seat earlier and was now sleeping fitfully after telling his long, tiring tale. He supposed that he was tired too, but he couldn't sleep; not after listening to everything that his friend had to say.

He always knew that Rafe was what made his life somewhat worth living. Without him there to help him stand up to his father, to encourage him whenever he was too much of a coward to take the first step or even to listen to his half-assed daydreams, Danny knew he would have grown up to be a bitter, lonely person. Still, the extent to which his life would unravel went beyond anything he had ever imagined and the worst part of it was that it made perfect sense. There was something wrong about him, as proven by his own experience. It seemed that while Rafe was his saving grace, he'd probably get his friend killed one way or another.

He sighed and the glass frosted. Danny knew what he had to do, but that knowledge didn't make the doing any easier. It had to be done soon, since they would be in Jersey in a couple of hours and he wanted to avoid making a scene in front of the rest of the company. Steeling himself, he leant over and poked Rafe's arm. His friend awoke with a start mid-snore, and rubbed his eyes sleepily.

"We here?"

"No, Rafe, there's something I need to tell you."

Rafe sat up immediately, calm and collected but completely attentive, just like Danny knew he would be. "Okay."

"I…I lied earlier. When I said I went back to the base. I didn't actually. Doolittle wouldn't let me in, obviously. Strange guy shows outta nowhere, no records or anything, who would, right? Anyway, I went back home."

"Oh…" Rafe was clearly confused. "Why didn't you think you could tell me this?"

"It's not that. You said you were gone for a week, but it was almost a month for me. And…uh…I met this girl."

Rafe's eyes narrowed, but he said "Okaay." Clearly he didn't like where this conversation was going, but he was willing to hear him out in the hopes that he was mistaken.

"And, uh, I kinda like her."

"Like her? As in, you made a new friend?" Rafe's voice was dangerously jaunty, like saying 'I'm giving you one last chance to think about what you're saying'. The extent to which his friend was predictable was funny and also troubling. What if Rafe was reading him as easily? Did he know that none of this was real? He dropped his gaze to the floor.

"No, as in I think I love her."

Silence. Danny looked up. Rafe looked livid, but he didn't say anything. Evidently digging his own grave was going to be more difficult than he thought. "I…I really love her. And uh, I asked her to marry me."

"WHAT?"

"Not that it matters now, obviously, but it was just so right. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, and she said yes. What I'm trying to say is that we were meant for each other. I want to find that girl."

Rafe took a deep breath, and the throbbing vein in forehead diminished somewhat. "And where does Evelyn fit into all this?"

He feigned a sigh and shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, me and Evelyn, we got together because we were the only two people on that island who had some idea of what the other was going through. Apart from that, we're not actually soulmates, not like the two of you were."

"So what are you saying? You're just going to leave her after everything to run after some girl who may or may not exist, who might be dead or married…for goodness' sake, what the hell do you think youaredoing?" His last words came out all rushed together, as if he was trying rather unsuccessfully to contain himself.

"Look, I know it's not the sanest thing to do, but it…I can't explain it. And for once, I am going to do something for me. All my life, I listened to you, I followed your lead and look at where that's left us. You barely talk to me, I can't ever mention Ev in front of you, and when we're in the same place together, she just hides behind Sandra. Just once, I wanna do something for me." He knew what Rafe's buttons were and he pushed them

Rafe closed his eyes and sighed. "I get it, okay. I haven't been a very good friend lately, but you gotta give me time to adjust. I will, I really will." He was almost pleading, but then his tone changed. "But you can't just leave Evelyn like that. You don't get to sleep with a girl and then just leave her because things get rough! You of all people should know better!"

"Oh, but you get to run off and fight someone else's war, is it? How is what I'm doing any worse than what you did? Al least I'm not giving her any false hope like you did."

"What happened to you? Man, I barely recognise you anymore."

"No, this is all me. I'm just saying the things that I would have kept to myself before this."

Rafe sat speechless and turned to look out of the window, looking torn between disgust and sadness. Danny never felt lower but he schooled his features into an expressionless mask and looked out of the window too, watching the countryside fly by. He hated doing this, but what he hated most of all was how easy it was to do it.

XXXXX

Things did not improve back on the base. To say that Doolittle was pissed was an understatement. The guys all wanted to know what happened, and they certainly weren't in any mood to share their strange experience; this ended with the rest of the company feeling betrayed and left out. It was all so infuriating, but it all paled in comparison to what was going on with Danny. He just couldn't wrap his head around it. When the fuck did his friend turn into some sort of cold, unfeeling, man-slut? He couldn't help but wonder if there was something that Danny wasn't telling him about the whole alternate reality experience. Still, he knew that he couldn't just stay angry with Danny and stop talking to him until he came to his senses. No, he'd seen the effect of isolation on Daniel and he was going to be damned if he was going to allow something like that happen to Danny under his watch. Maybe he'd change his mind after a few days of normalcy.

The situation worsened over the next few days. Rafe never found out whether Danny changed his mind, because he never got to speak to him. It seemed that whenever he entered a room, his friend would suddenly remember something of absolute importance that he had to do in the opposite end of the base. He suddenly found Gooz such interesting company that he spent all their training time listening to his theory that they ought to lose half of the 'buttons' on the control panel.

It took less than a day for the rest of the guys to notice. Red was sympathetic, but the rest of the guys seemed to be irritated somewhat. As if going AWOL for a day or two meant that they were privileged somehow. As if they could not now be angry or worked up or anything. Screw them. He didn't care.

Apparently, Doolittle did care. Rafe found himself sitting in the man's office one day being fixed with a somewhat benevolent and sympathetic gaze, and realised that he was in for it. "Is this about last week, sir?"

"I am not blind MacCawley. I can see just as clearly as the rest of the men that something is seriously wrong between you and Walker."

"It's not like-"

Doolittle cut him off. "Shut up, MacCawley. I don't give a rat's ass about your personal relationships, but I do give a damn about morale. And you know as well as I do that its hit rock bottom since the two of you stopped talking to each other. The rest of your company look up to the two of you, and seeing you barely holding it together is not doing them any good. Now what the hell is goin' on between you two?"

Rafe wasn't feeling very cooperative. "I dunno. Why am I the only one here?"

"I'm talking to you because Danny will clam up faster than I can say 'boo'." He took on a softer tone. "I've known you kids since you were eighteen, and I have never seen this happen. Now, for the last time, what is going on?"

"We like the same girl. Last week was the first time we got to talk properly about it, and we just can't see eye to eye anymore. Ain't nothin' nobody can do about that." He lied glibly, but then it wasn't really a lie, was it?

As much as he told Doolittle that there wasn't anything to be done about it, Rafe knew that he had to do something. He was contemplating ways to deal with this problem when the guys went for their usual weekly drinking session. They had made it through a round of shots listening to Anthony bitch about harsh censorship of their letters home, and Danny had walked up to the counter to order a second round; Rafe saw his window of opportunity.

Danny tried to walk away when he approached, but he caught his friend's elbow. "Hey, you mind explaining what this is all about?"

"What?"

"Don't give me that crap." He kept his voice low, but it was difficult. "You're avoiding me. Why?"

"Why? Because I can't stand the sight of you anymore. Because of you, because you left me behind, I know what it's like not to have you around, and you know what? I like it. I love it. That's what last week made me realise. When I left you back at the base and went home, I suddenly felt a lot better than I had been feeling since you came back. My dad was right. You're just a no-good kid who can't read or think about anything more complex than your next meal. So if you're really the friend you claim to be, leave the hell alone."

He chucked a roll of bills on the counter and walked away. Rafe was glad that he did, because a moment more of that conversation would have made either lash out or run away in tears. As it is, it felt like someone was twisting a knife in his gut. He never imagined that Danny could hate him so much. He never imagined that Danny could be more cruel and thoughtless than Daniel. But most of all, he never imagined that he would be the cause of this malign change. Feeling as though he was walking into a new, harsher, unremitting world, he headed back to the group and found a seat next to Red. If Danny wanted to be left alone, fine. It was the least he could do.

For the first time since the training began in earnest, the Fortresses took off within the allocated runway length. Rafe managed it first, of course. He managed to find that elusive balance between not overworking the throttle and giving the plane all the juice she could handle; it was amazing that he hadn't figured it out earlier. A few tries later, pretty much everyone got it. It was a high point in what had been grim proceedings previously, and the whole company had taken the rest of the day off to lounge around and drink themselves blind. Even Doolittle joined in for while, telling a few not-so-funny jokes that had everyone in stitches anyway. Happy though the mood was, he couldn't bring himself to crack a genuine smile. How pathetic was that; that he had lost the ability to smile?

And then Danny just disappeared. Rafe woke up one morning, and his friend was not there. For a moment, panic set in and he stood frozen, completely incapable of thinking of anything apart from 'no, no, not again'. Maybe the same thing had happened again. It took several deep breaths before it occurred to him that Danny's disappearance may have a much more mundane explanation.

It was. A cursory check of his drawer revealed some missing garments, and his duffle was gone too. "Stupid, stupid boy," Rafe cursed silently. What trouble had he gotten himself into this time?

Doolittle, it turned out, knew about this. When he went to the man's office to tell him, somewhat apologetically, about Danny's disappearance, he said "Hold your horses, MacCawley. He saw me yesterday and asked for a few days off and I okayed it. Nobody's missing."

"We get days off?"

Doolittle looked surprised. "Uh, no. But I can make exceptions where necessary, and I did."

"Well, can I have a couple of days off too?"

"Are you five, MacCawley? What reason could you possibly have to want a day off now that I would even take into account?"

"My best friend's gone off to God knows where and I know he's getting into trouble of some sort and I'm sure he can handle it but I've watched out for that kid since before I could read so I just can't stand by and…and…" he trailed off, feeling embarrassed.

Doolittle sighed and shook his head. "Go on. Scram. You've got three days, MacCawley. Come back one second late and I'll hang your head in my office."

XXXXX

They moved to Tennessee after the funeral, so he knew that her real grave was somewhere else. This was just a headstone his father put in the local churchyard so that he'd have something to visit every year; he'd have them kitted out in their best suits to come and pay their respects. It was one of the few times he would be completely sober and lucid, and Danny himself never knew what to make of the visit because he knew that immediately after he would go out and drink himself blind. He never understood how someone could feel so much pain over something that they had no control over.

Needless to say, he did now. In fact, he just gained a whole lotta respect for his old man. He respected her enough to visit her sober, which was more than could be said about him. Danny regarded the bottle of Jack Daniels in his grip ruefully and took another drink; the burn of alcohol temporarily eased the ache of his heart.

"Hey mom," he said, speaking to the engraved block of marble. It said 'Elizabeth Walker, beloved wife and mother'. Simple, but it conveyed what was never said in words; that here lay a person who was taken before her time. That her passing had far-reaching effects on those she left behind. That the luckiest person in this tragedy was her.

He found himself unable to continue and though instead of how difficult these past few weeks had been. Rafe had come through his whole crazy adventure hell bent on making things okay between them, just in case he was inclined to put a gun to his head. As if he would ever muster the courage to do that.

_Danny sat on his bunk reading Dickens' Christmas Carol after a day of fruitless toil with the Fortresses. Flying never felt like so much work before, but that wasn't why he was reading the book for the 12__th__ time since returning from Andover. No, he needed somewhere to escape from his friend's crestfallen image every time he refused to acknowledge his presence. At least he had temporary reprieve whenever the reformed Scrooge brought Christmas to the Cratchitts and Tiny Tim. _

_But Rafe was nothing if not persistent. Danny had made it halfway through the ghost of Christmas Past's monologue when a paper bag landed on his bunk. He looked up to see Rafe smiling down at him with an expression of unadulterated joy and triumph. This was bad. _

_"Cinnamon sticks," he said. "Fresh from the oven. The diner downtown had some sort of bake sale today and these were the last ones. I know, I'm awesome."_

_He loved cinnamon sticks. The smell was now wafting through the air, tempting him almost as much as his friend's happy smile. Steeling himself, Danny grabbed the bag and tossed it onto Rafe's bunk. "I'm not hungry."_

_Scrooge's past memories kept him from seeing the crushed look he knew Rafe would be wearing right now, as well as the gaping wound in his heart. _

_Red ambled by not a minute later, happily oblivious to the exchange, clutching a pool cue. "Hey, guys you wanna go shoot a few?"_

_A few of the guys murmured their agreement and moved to go. Rafe was one of them. Red tapped his shoulder. "Hey, Danny, come on. We're playing for money."_

"_Fuck off. I don't want your money."_

"Uh, sorry I didn't drop by for a while. I was, uh…" He stopped and took another drink. "I wanted to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry you died because of me. You shoulda' been happy. I'm so sorry."

XXXXX

It was nightfall by the time he arrived. Somehow, he knew that Danny would have come here and he was right; after all, the 'girl' was supposed to be here. It was odd to be home after such a long time and he was struck by a pang of homesickness. He wanted to go home and see his parents. He wanted to fly the old crop-duster one more time. He wanted to run around the fields of corn and wheat with absolutely nothing on his mind and worry only about whether he was going to have to wash up before dinner. Shaking his head, Rafe realised that he missed the innocence of home; the innocence that had been shattered by war and death.

He found Danny in some nameless bar a little out of town. The place was full and he squeezed his way into a corner where he could sit unnoticed. His friend sat up at the counter, shoulders hunched, attention completely focused on the drink in front of him. Maybe he couldn't find the girl. Now that he had him in sight, not to mention the fact that he looked pretty much fine, Rafe half-regretted coming at all. He glumly ordered a beer – no sense in getting too drunk to find his way back – and gave in to an attempt by a clearly drunk old man to converse about the sorry state of affairs the Allies were in.

"Ah say, if I were younger, I'd give 'em squint-eyes bastards a thumpin' they'd not soon forget. This is God comin' down on us for not helpin' Churchill with Hitler."

"God?"

"Uh-huh. Ah heard…heard they were killin' Jews in Germany. Burnin' 'em by the hundreds. We did nothing."

"If that's true, how come God's done nothing to Norway? Or India? Or Brazil?"

"Because they ain't Christians. Heathens, the lot of them. They follow the other one, not Him. There'll be reckonin' for it soon, mark my words."

Rafe shook his head. "God has nothing to do with all this. It's us."

A blur of movement caught his eye. Danny had just left the bar, clutching a brown paper bag in hand. Evidently he was tired of the crowd and must have decided to continue partying on his own. Rafe chucked a couple of bills on the table and followed him out, keeping a safe distance between them. He needn't have worried; Danny was so focused on getting to wherever he was heading that he walked fast and never once turned around. He eventually turned into one of those dingy roadside motels and entered the room at the corner.

Rafe stood in the parking lot and watched as the lights came on in the room. A shadow fell across the window for a while, and that shadow took off its coat, folded it neatly and laid it on some unseen surface. Then it went away, and a few moments later, the faint sound of some television show streamed out. Yeah, Danny was obviously up to no good.

What the hell was he thinking anyway, worrying about Danny getting into trouble? Just because he was being more of an ass than he usually was? Truth was, he wasn't a wide-eyed kid anymore, hadn't been for a long time, and it was about time he accepted that. It was difficult to admit, but Danny didn't need him. He was happy on his own. He could take care of himself just fine. Heck, he was handling life a whole lot better than Rafe ever could; if he never found the girl he loved or whatever, he certainly wouldn't be doing something as reasonable as catching a late-night show in the confines of a neat little motel room.

Danny was right. The best thing he could do for his friend right now was just to leave him alone. It was sad that Danny would choose to deal with this all on his own, but he only had himself to blame. He remembered the conversation they had in the car the last time Danny tried to tell him how he felt.

_"You're the only family I got, Rafe. When you were gone, I was the loneliest I'd ever been."_

_"Awww, now you're breaking my heart."_

Those words were so full of sarcasm and resentment that he cringed as they played over in his head. He turned to leave but found himself unable to leave the parking lot. The problem with leaving was that he had tried that and it didn't work. He had left Daniel at the bar simply because he was being difficult. It was all too easy to say that Danny didn't need him and was being such an ass that he didn't want his company anyway, but he had seen what solitude had done to Daniel; there was just something inherently wrong about letting Danny do that to himself.

Rafe changed his mind and walked back to the room. Yes, now he was being difficult and pushy, but he couldn't give a fuck about that. Mentally running through a list of lame excuses, he rapped sharply on the door and waited to be let in. And waited. There was no response. Fair enough, Danny wasn't expecting anyone and so probably didn't even register the sound of his knocking. He knocked again, harder and longer this time. Nothing. The muffled sound of the television blathered on, but there wasn't a peep apart from that.

Okay. He was definitely not thinking of the time when he'd walked into a dark motel room to find Daniel's foot a mutilated mess. Not thinking about it. "Danny!" He called a little louder than was polite, and didn't miss the way his voice quavered. Damn that boy.

There was no indication that anything was alive and sentient in that room. Rafe very nearly kicked the door in before it occurred to him that trying the doorknob would be a better course of action. The door was not locked; it swung open to reveal a dimly lit, empty room. Just as he was about to punch something in frustration, he noticed a flicker of movement in the farthest corner of the room, behind the bed.

He stepped into the room and walked closer, shocked to discover Danny's tall form cramped into the tiny space between the bed and the wall, when he saw something that stopped his heart for a moment. The light was glinting off Danny's face. Forehead scrunched in worry, Rafe eased the door shut behind him and moved soundlessly toward his friend, as if the slightest sound would somehow throw the situation into an untold mess. He crouched in front of his friend and, for the first time in his life, was at a complete loss.

Because up close, Danny's face was wet with tears. Even as Rafe watched, stunned, another tear welled up and rolled silently down his face. Danny ignored it—and Rafe—and took a drink from the almost empty bottle of whisky.

"Danny."

He finally looked up, and Rafe's heart broke; those expressive brown eyes that he knew better than his own were so full of madness and grief that it stole his breath. He didn't look at all surprised to see Rafe, but his glassy, half-focused expression told him that it was a blessing that Danny recognised him at all. He knew immediately that this had nothing to do with some random girl whose name Danny had never even mentioned.

"Leave." His trembling voice was soft.

"What?"

"You should go, Rafe. Go while you still can."

More tears escaped, one falling to the floor, the other trailing down his already tear-stained cheek. His eyes were rimmed with red; God only knew how long he'd been sitting here silently dripping salt water all over the carpeting—_crying_—while Rafe had debated outside if his brother still needed him.

"Danny, hey." He reached out and put his hand on Danny's shoulder in a placating gesture. "I'm not going anywhere."

"No," he breathed. "'Course not. None of you ever did. All stayed 'till the end."

"Who? Danny, what are you talking about?"

Danny looked up at him again, eyes pleading for understanding and – _forgiveness_? "It's all my fault. Everyone around me dies. I'm a…I'm a monster."

And then his shoulders began to silently shake.

Not a second after Danny curled in on himself, Rafe was sliding down the wall, legs framing his trembling kid brother. Rafe pulled him close and tucked his chin over the mop of soft hair, wrapped both arms around his quaking shoulders. Danny sobbed until his breath hitched for reasons that Rafe could not understand, held tightly in protective arms but lost in his inconsolable grief. Drawing on memories long forgotten, Rafe rocked lightly, threading a hand through Danny's dark hair, and murmured comforting nothings; wondering as he watched his friend shatter if he was going to be able to put him back together again.

XXXXX

Headache. That was the first thought that crossed his fuzzy mind; that he had the mother of all headaches. He moved to pull the pillow over his aching head, but realised belatedly that there was no pillow. Probably because he wasn't in bed; no, he was lying on some hard and scratchy surface and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. The place reeked of alcohol, which, judging from the way his head throbbed, he probably consumed. Where the hell was he?

With that realisation came another; he wasn't alone. Startled, he nearly jumped but instead managed only to roll over before the latent headache exploded into something that felt like a hundred little demons with pitchforks going crazy in his head. Anyway, there was no need for alarm; it was just Rafe. For some unfathomable reason, they were both half-tangled together on the floor in the crawl space between the bed and the wall. Rafe was still asleep, one leg propped up on the bed and head bent at uncomfortable angle against the wall.

Danny remained still, deciding that he was nowhere near lucid, and waking Rafe would add another dimension to a problem he was not ready to handle. There were too many gaps in his memory; he last remembered drinking miserably in front of some stupid Navy recruitment message on the television. When did Rafe get here? Why did he let him in? Did he say anything stupid? And then there was the pressing matter of how he was going to change everything back to the way it was last week; how was he was going to push Rafe away again, stomp on his good intentions and generally repay years of brotherhood with a knife to the back?

XXXXX

Rafe woke up for the third time in weeks in some strange place. The usual surprise and shock at coming to in an alien environment had all but given way to weariness and the feeling of not-again. He knew before he even opened his eyes that he was somewhere not-home because his neck ached where it had been pillowed against the wall and he couldn't feel his legs.

He opened his eyes to see the unexpected sight of Danny staring right back at him from where he was lying on the floor over one of his completely numb legs and remembered. Danny must have seen that too, because he pulled himself up and staggered over to the only chair in the room and unceremoniously dropped into it. He looked terrible; older and wearier than he should, and Rafe recognised it as the weariness of trying to hold the world together all by oneself. He got off the floor too, flailing at the wall for support as the blood rushed back to his legs, and sat on the edge of the bed where he was almost face to face with his friend. Danny pointedly looked elsewhere, pinching the bridge of his nose in the classic pose of someone suffering a hangover.

"That was an impressive binge, man. Never thought you had it in ya."

"Just go away."

"Tell me something I haven't heard. Something about how you're the cause of it all. Maybe you should begin with what 'it' is."

Danny suddenly looked like a cornered rabbit and Rafe dropped the sarcasm. "Look, Danny, whatever it is, you can tell me. I'm not gonna get angry or anything."

"It's not about that. Telling you isn't going to change anything. It's not even something _I _can change."

"Well, then, just tell me. You're the one who said that knowledge is a burden, right? That that's why bad news travels faster than good? You'd feel better if you stop bottling it all up and drinking like this."

"It's not like I deserve to feel better." This was murmured so softly that it was almost inaudible.

"Because everyone dies? People die, Danny. You and me, too, someday. I know it feels like all the people we know are dropping dead, but it's a war. There's not a single thing you can do about it. Doesn't make you a monster."

"It's not everybody else, it's you! You and Ev and my Mom and Dad!" Danny snapped suddenly. Shaking his head, Danny continued speaking, but kept his eyes downward. "You figured out that the reality we went to or whatever was one in which we never existed. When I woke up, I knew somehow that things were different, ya know? Didn't even try to get to the base. I just went home. And then I-"

"Met me." Rafe would have been happy to let Danny explain in his own time, but it was his way of showing that he was there.

"Yeah. I knew it wasn't really you, but close enough…you weren't in the force. You had this garage back home. You…you married Ev." He traced a scratch in the wood of the chair, and Rafe could see his hand trembling. "You had a kid. One whole, happy family."

"Because she hadn't met you. I mean, who knows what-"

"Then I met my Mom."

That stopped him short. Rafe inwardly cringed at this piece of information, knowing full well that Danny was especially attached to his mother despite barely remembering her. It explained why he was drinking himself blind.

"For a week or so, I had a _mom_. Do you have any idea what that's like? And my dad? He wasn't a drunk, beat-up wreck. He was just like yours. And you guys were neighbours."

"I'm guessing this reality sucks in comparison, huh?"

"It was the happiest week of my life. I mean, it's everything I ever wanted, everything I never dared wish for because I sure as hell would never get it. We; you, me and Ev, we sat down and had dinner together and it wasn't awkward or scary. You were making jokes and we were laughing and everyone was just so happy. You weren't angry with me and nobody was in any danger of dying." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that allowed him a short break from explaining.

"But why'd you lie about the girl then? And why won't you talk to me?"

"The last night I was there, there was a party. My parents were there and we were all talking about random stuff. Then my Mom tells a story about how, 23 years ago, some psychic told her that if she had a kid then, it would be the end of her. So she waited a year or so and had a daughter. And everyone lives happily ever after. That's what I was talking about. If I was never born, everybody's lives would be perfect."

And there it was; the reason for everything that had been wrong since they got back. The reason for the drinking, the sulking and the alienation. The reason he didn't want to be with Evelyn. The reason Danny wouldn't talk to him. He never imagined that Danny was as protective of him as he was of his friend; it was enlightening, and as much as he was being such a girl about all this, more than a little touching. And so silly that he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Good God, is that why you've stopped talking to me? Because maybe your Mom could have lived if you were never born?"

"Don't you get it? Everyone I'm around comes off worse because of it. You're all better off without me, so I'm doing what's right."

"I didn't realise you hated me that much."

Danny looked up at him again, completely confused. That was good; it meant that he was thrown off, to some miniscule extent, from his depressing line of thought. "Huh?"

"I mean, I never knew you'd hold that kind of thing against me, after everything we've been through."

His expression had changed from confused to incredulous. "Are we even talking about the same thing here?"

"If I'd never been around, you'd have gone to Stanford. On a full ride. You hear me? They gave you, some backwoods Bible-belt kid a full scholarship to study law at Stan-snooty-ford. You were earning more than we'd make our entire lives before you were old enough to drink!" And then, before the age of twenty-three, you've got an entire department under you and serial killers on the run from you. I mean, I don't think you'd have stopped short of being president."

Danny snorted at that, but he looked like he was thinking about what Rafe said. "If I don't end up murdered."

"That's not the point." So he was glossing over the truth a bit, but it wasn't lying. It was just leaving out the bits which didn't support his argument, such as the fact that the detective was manic-depressive at the least and a full-blown sociopath at worst. "Point is, without me, you'd have been great. Like, history book kinda great. Given time, you could have changed the world."

"Who cares?"

"Right back at ya. So I owned a garage and married Evelyn. Who cares? I'd never have gotten into the force if it weren't for you. I know I'd have been happier or whatever, but if it means that I never got to fly, never got to see the things I've seen, I don't want it. I don't want the kind of happiness that comes out of ignorance. And if not knowing you is the only damn way I can be happy, then fuck happiness."

It was true. It didn't matter if Danny was the anti-Christ himself here to spectacularly end the world in blood, flame and anguish, he couldn't imagine not having him around. Couldn't imagine not wanting him around. It was difficult to imagine, though, that his friend was remotely evil when he was sitting there looking like a kicked puppy. And he was going to strangle his friend if he was going to continue turning this into the girliest let's-talk-about-feelings moment of the century.

Danny looked shocked. He opened his mouth to say something, but gawped speechlessly for a moment before pulling his jaw off the floor and shaking his head. "You're insane."

"At least I'm not a moron."

"You're the one who wants to hang around a walking bad luck charm and I'm the moron?"

"So you're talking to me now?"

Rolling his eyes, Danny muttered something unintelligible, but he was half-smiling and that was good enough. It was good to see him smile again.

"You're okay now?"

He nodded, but added softly "I just miss my Mom."

And there was that kicked puppy face again. Sometimes he wondered whether Danny knew the effect that look had on people and was really good at turning it on at the right times. Half-amused, Rafe leaned forward and affectionately mussed his hair. "But Mommy's right here."

Danny backed away from him so fast that the chair rocked, looking shocked. "The hell does that mean?"

"You forgot!" Rafe was trying hard not to laugh, but he was surprised that Danny did not remember.

"Forgot what?" He still looked like the toaster had started talking instead of making toast.

"You really forgot! I can't believe it."

_The moment Mrs. Schurley told them that to pick up their crayons and get to work, his heart was troubled. Making cards were all well and good because they meant a break from the usual tedium of reading and writing of their grammar classes, but the problem with cards is that they are usually meant for someone. That was still well and good, because there would really be no fun in making cards if no one was going to be happy about all the work you put into making one. And there was the problem; what if you had no one to give it to?_

_It was Mother's Day tomorrow. Mrs. Schurley, married with kids, had been banging on all week about the general importance of mothers; how they always loved you no matter what, how they took care of you when you were sick, how they a__lways knew something was wrong and could make everything better or at least try very, very hard, blah blah blah._

_As much as he excited about making the best card for his mother, Rafe__, even at the tender age of 7, couldn't help but feel that it was unfair that they were doing this when Danny clearly could not take part. Why put him through the pain of making a card for his mother when he didn't have one? He looked up from his own card, which he was currently emblazoning with multi-coloured planes, and at his friend. Danny was working on something too, eyes narrowed in concentration; he didn't look miserable. Content, Rafe went back to work, making a mental note to ask him about it later on. _

_He remembered the mental note when he came up from breakfast and found a dark green card slotted between the pages of his favourite comic book. It had 'Happy Mothers' Day' scrawled in front, and a large 'thanks for everything' on the inside. He understood. Perfectly. That whatever it is mothers do for their kids; feeding them, making sure they're more than okay, just plain being there for them, he's done it for Danny, and he always will. _

"You gave me two cards I think, before we outgrew the whole making cards in class thing."

"I have no memory of any of that," Danny mused, still looking somewhat surprised.

"Yeah, well, I do. Shoulda' seen your face just now. What the hell did you think I was talking about?"

"Whaddaya think? First I wake up with you sprawled all over me, and then you make that creepy-ass comment. Freak."

Rafe burst out laughing, and after a while, Danny did too.

XXXXX

The bar was empty in the morning but for the perpetually drunken old man slumped in a corner. They sat at the counter in an amicable silence, enjoying the respite the darkened bar offered against the glaring sun outside. Danny's duffel bag rested on the ground between their barstools, and Rafe had their train tickets back to Jersey. Rafe had grumbled about making the same trip for the third time already; apparently, while he stayed in Tennessee for the duration of the 'trip', his alternate self had dragged his friend all over the country.

Danny slumped over the counter, buried his face in his arms and groaned. "I am never drinking again."

"Then you've come to the wrong place, sweetheart." The bartender smiled at him affectionately, leaning forward on the counter. She looked like a nice lady, almost motherly with her salt and pepper hair, but with a twinkle in her eyes that said she more devil than angel. Certainly much nicer than the stone-faced log that was in here last night.

"Well, I'm drinking and he's stuck with me, so we're right where we should be," said Rafe.

"You're right about that," she quipped coyly. So she saw him as a kid and Rafe as a potential conquest? So funny and yet so sadly typical. "What can I get ya?"

"A beer."

"Anything for you, hon?'

"Got anything without alcohol?"

She smiled. "I doubt it, but I'll see what I can find."

The phone rang before she could get their drinks and she rushed off to answer it. Rafe turned to him and said "Does she look familiar to you?"

"Nope."

"'Coulda' sworn I'd seen her somewhere. But forget that, did you see the way she was looking at me? Damn, I still got it."

"If 'it' means ogling women twice as old as you, yeah, you've got it. Congratulations. Maybe you'll get the plague tomorrow and then you'll really have something to crow about."

"Aww, you're just jealous that you're not getting some."

"You wanna rethink that? That of the two of us, I'm the one not getting some?"

Rafe pulled a face. "Oh, God, that's just gross. Now I've got a horror movie in my head, thanks."

He laughed, and for the first time since he came back, didn't wish that he could have lived forever in that alternate reality. It felt good to banter with Rafe and not have to pretend not to know him.

The bartender came back and slid two glasses towards them; one was a tall beer glass, frosted and filled with foamy beer and the other was a shotglass, filled with what looked to be whiskey. He looked up at her hoping for an explanation and she merely stared at him, as if nothing was out of place. "Erm, is that whiskey?"

"Yeah." She held the bottle in one hand, as if expecting to pour him another.

"I didn't order this, remember?"

She blinked for a moment, and then smacked her forehead. "Goodness, I've got the wrong one!"

It wasn't a big deal, and he really didn't mind. Danny was about to tell her this when Rafe practically leapt from his seat and caught hold of her hand. "Who are you?"

She half-shrieked and tried to tug her hand out of his grip, but he managed to hold on. "Let go of me!"

The situation was quickly spinning out of control and Danny hadn't the slightest idea what to do. Why on earth was Rafe attacking a random bartender anyway? And manhandling a woman like that? Which was why he surprised himself when he reached over the counter and caught her other hand, effectively trapping her. "Answer the question."

Her eyes darted between the two of them in fright, and Danny questioned in his mind the wisdom of what they were doing. If anyone were to walk into the bar now, they were doomed. He hoped Rafe knew what he was doing.

"Daniel would always order shots," Rafe said to him, and it suddenly made sense. He snarled at the lady in his grip. "So who are you and how do you know that?"

She pulled harder, but was no match for the two men holding her down; it looked like she was about to scream. Then, just as suddenly as Rafe had grabbed her, she stopped struggling and rolled her eyes. "Some days you should never have gotten out of bed. This is getting to be one of those days."

"For the last time-"

"Yes, I'm getting there," she snarled somewhat impatiently, and then turned to glare at Danny. He released her hand, knowing somehow that she wasn't going to run away; knowing that she somehow knew something about them, and not in a good way.

"Well, it's just that I was watching the two of you that night in the bar on the base. You know, where your whole company was there and the two of you were the only ones who let your drinks sit until the foam was all gone? You two were being pretty nasty to each other, and yet you left together. I thought it would be funny to see what would happen if the two of you were separated, that's all."

If she had just asked him what it was like to have the two of them separated, Danny could have told her a very unfunny account. Perhaps the more appropriate question was to ask what she was, instead of whom. "You did that to us?"

She smiled. "Oh yeah. The whole alternate reality thing was a last-minute stroke of genius. You're both really, really entertaining, you know."

"So that wasn't real?"

"Oh, it was real. As real as you and me, flyboy. That's exactly what would have happened if you were never born. Think of it as a time-warp thing. A week or a month may have passed in that reality, but barely a day in this one. Time is relative, just ask Einstein."

"What are you?"

"Well, that depends on whom you ask. Some cultures know me as a djinn, others a trickster and yet others a god. I uspet, disrupt and destroy, and I awaken. I am Heyoka and Eris and Anansi. And I am also a bartender."

As she spoke, the atmosphere changed, and Danny could feel it in his bones. He'd heard of the names she mentioned; frightening, powerful, ages-old beings who were intriguing to read about but to meet one was like having a nightmare come to life. His instincts told him to run and never turn back, but Rafe stood his ground and so did he.

And then she grew serious. "But after awhile, I gotta say, it was somewhat depressing. I mean, there are some things that you can fix and some things you can't. You gotta have the smarts to know the difference and the guts to walk away when you can't. You two don't seem to get that. Keep this self-sacrificing complex up and you'll be the death of each other."

"Listen, lady, I have no idea who the hell you are, but you ain't human and that's clear enough." There was one thing to be said about Rafe, though; he didn't scare easily. Sometimes he wondered if his friend would face down the devil if he met him. "But the thing about us humans is that unlike you self-serving Godlike bastards, we care about things other than ourselves. It called al…at…"

"Altruism," he picked up where Rafe floundered, knowing full well what his friend was going to say because it was what he felt too. "Sometimes we care about these things more than ourselves. And it may be the end of us, but we'd rather not live without them."

Rafe caught her collar and pulled her close, so that her face was merely inches away from him, despite the fact that she technically had the power to turn him into dust. "If you ever do that to my kid brother again, god or not, I will hunt you down and. Kick. Your. Ass."

It was a little embarrassing, having Rafe stand up for him like that; like he had gone through life and failed to acquire simple survival skills and would always be dependent on someone to look out for him, but at some base level, it felt good. Like nothing could ever touch him, not while he had Rafe watching his back.

He put a hand on his friend's shoulder and tugged lightly. "Come on, Rafe. Let's go."

Rafe shrugged his hand off and continued to glare at the trickster.

"Go on then," she said. "Don't want to miss your train now. And don't forget your bags."

XXXXX

"Ah don' pretend to understand ya, but ah really don' get this whole deal with them flyboys," the old man said as he watched the two pilots disappear down the road. "You mind pouring me some of tha' stuff?"

"I am not your servant, Pan and you aren't really old and drunk. If you want a drink, get your ass off the chair and pour it yourself. And stop talking like that, it's very unbecoming of you."

"Alright, mother." All sign of fatigue and drunkenness slipped from him; as he approached the counter, there was a sprightliness to his step that no man could possess. The rough, stubbled cheeks gave way to a smooth jaw line as the hunched back straightened out. Grey hair became fine gold, the likes of which had not been seen for many ages. "They don't seem to have done any wonders for your mood, either."

"Don't be silly, Pan. I'm delighted. Didn't you hear them just now?"

"What?" He tipped the bottle of whiskey into the beer glass, but when he set the bottle down, it was still full. "About how they rather be human because they can love altruistically? You know, that younger one had some idea who you are. I'm surprised he didn't bolt sooner. Makes you miss the old days, doesn't it? We had temples and offerings and their admiration…"

"My dear Pan, you heard but you were not listening. Did you not notice the way they were finishing each other's sentences? Or the way they were standing up for each other?"

"Yes, so?"

"So, they're friends again. Now that they know how much of each other they are, they're not going to let little things divide them anymore; they'll work together like they should. Those two are the only ones holding this insanely suicidal mission together. If they aren't at their combined best, Doolittle might just have to lead the raid himself and we can't have that, can we Pan? We need him in England after this."

"You're being terribly partisan about this whole thing, mother. I don't see what difference it makes to us if the Germans bombed the snot out of the English."

"I rather like them. Besides, the only people bothered about saving your various statues all over Europe are the English, not to mention that the so-called Druids are the only ones who have any sort of belief in you these days. You ought to thank me."

He lifted his glass in a toast to her. "Cheers, mother."

XXXXX

Danny had dozed off quite quickly on the train, head pillowed on his jacket, which was stuffed between his arm and the window. Rafe remained awake, mulling the words of that not-human bartender. It was very disturbing and also somewhat annoyingly humbling to know that there were beings in the universe capable of turning a man's life upside down for fun. He didn't recognise the various names she cited earlier, but she was right to call herself troublemaking whore. Poor old man; he really should leave the bar before she got bored again and decided to screw his life up.

A nudge drew him from his thoughts; Danny's long legs were folded on the seat, resting against him, and he was being unceremoniously kicked as his friend shifted in his sleep. Wondering how long he'd have to put up with the indignity, Rafe looked up to find the younger man blinking at him sleepily.

"Ready to join the living, Danny?"

Danny's head slowly swivelled left and right. "I don't see this 'living' that you speak of."

"Oh, that's so funny. Excuse my serious face; I'm laughing on the inside."

"Not half as funny as you threatening to kick Eris' ass. Do you have any idea who she is?"

"Something inhuman."

"She called herself Anansi, Heyoka and Eris. Anansi is the African god of mischief. Heyoka is an Indian concept, of a medicine man of sorts who, through jest, gets people to think about things they normally don't. Eris is the Greek goddess of strife. She's a real piece of work, I can tell you that. She started the Trojan war. They're all goddamn nutters, though."

"How the fuck do you know these things?"

Rafe couldn't believe that Danny recognised the long list of names she threw at them like some sort of badges of honour, or the somewhat awed tone that his voice had taken. Pagan gods, the lot of them, and Danny actually looked up to her? Somehow the lesson about false gods at Sunday school seemed to have bounced off that normally sponge-like brain of his. Still, who was he to blame Danny for anything, especially after what he'd done?

"Fuck," he said out loud, shaking his head.

"Something wrong?" Danny sat up, but still leaned against the window.

"Just…I'm sorry, man. I'm sorry you had to go through all that craziness."

"It's not your fault. What the heck are you apologising for?"

"It's what she said. She said that she saw us being nasty to each other and that that's why she wanted to fuck around with that, but I was the one who was mean to you. You were trying your level best to be my friend. And it was not like I had any right to be mad at you in the first place; it was just bitterness and I was taking it out on you because I could. Because you're the only one whom I could push away day after day after day who'd still be there. Because of that, because I was an ass, you had to go through all that crap. I'm so sorry for that."

Danny smiled sadly and ran a hand through his already messy hair. "You're more than my best friend, Rafe. You're my brother and I'm yours. If that's what it took to make us see that, so what?" He looked away and began worrying the ragged sleeve of his jacket. Rafe waited for him to pick up where he left off, but as more and more time passed, he realised that that was it.

"That's it? I open up my heart and let you see my fears and regrets and worries, and that's it?"

"What do you want? A poem?"

"Forget it. Moment's gone."

Rafe shoved Danny playfully and reached out to ruffle his hair again. Danny ducked, but not before Rafe managed to have his overly long bangs stand on end. Scowling, Danny used his fingers to tease it back in order, good humour betrayed by the rare smile on his face. "Jackass."

Rafe found himself grinning ear to ear. This was the Danny he remembered; this was the way he remembered them being, before England and Evelyn and the attack and the mission. This was them being friends and brothers like only they knew how. This was what had survived and would always survive after the world had been burnt away.

"Takes one to know one, Danny."


End file.
